xvii.

a quiet chat

Stiles stares at his reflection in the full-length mirror of the DEO's locker room. He is not alone. He will probably never be alone again, not after he's proved himself a danger to the city. It's J'onn who's watching him this time, waiting for him to delve down into his dark power, but he's locked that up inside a box within his skull that only rattles every second of every minute of every day.

Stiles ignores the alien. J'onn might as well not be there for all the attention Stiles gives him. Instead, he stares at his reflection, stripped to his underwear. He really is quite a mess, isn't he? The Essyolyte left huge scratches across his cheek, and he's never seen bags as large as the ones under his eyes. If he weren't ignoring the fact that J'onn was in the room, he'd be embarrassed by the glyphs carved into the skin of his limbs and torso, woven in between the long lines of his shame and the scars from all his old adventures. His magically reinforced brace protects his bum knee, though he can tell that the gemstones need a good recharge. The full moon would be best, but he'll take what he can get.

He drops a wash cloth into the sink, and red rivulets run away from it where the water from the faucet hits. He's been cleaning off all the blood and grime from the fight with the Essyolyte, now that J'onn doesn't have him thrown in a cell or interrogation room. Every dam bit of him aches. He's ready to drop, and his head aches from the incessant rattling of that box. J'onn has returned all his personal effects—his magical powders vials, Allison's knife, and, thankfully, his weed.

He lights up a joint—he should really invest in one of those vape things—and lets it dangle from his lips as he shakes out the extra set of clothes Alex gave him earlier.

"Do you have to do that in here?" J'onn asks.

Stiles answers by taking a long drag, tilting his head back, and slowly puffing it out again.

He pulls a pair of black sweatpants on and tugs a matching long-sleeved shirt over his head, balancing the joint on the sink. There are flip flops, too, though they're just a little large on him. He retrieves his smoking joint and holds it between his lips as he slowly spins and spreads his arms for J'onn's inspection. "Ta da. Squeaky clean." His grin is hollow and hurts his cheeks.

J'onn leaps forward, crossing the space between them in less than an instant to seize the front of Stiles' shirt and slam him against the metal lockers. His eyes flash red, but he doesn't shift into his Martian form. He doesn't need to. Hank Henshaw has more than enough muscle to hold Stiles' scrawny ass in the air.

"Listen to me, you little punk," J'onn snarls, and Stiles has to hold back a snicker. He just doesn't find people intimidating anymore. J'onn's attempt here… it just amuses him. But he bites his tongue, and he listens because he's trying to be a better person.

"If you set one single toe over the goddamn line, or if I even think you're about to put that toe over, I will not hesitate to take you the fuck out. I don't care about your tortured past or the fact that you're all buddy-buddy with Kara. I will snap you in half."

"Put me down now," Stiles says. Just because he's not going to laugh at J'onn's threats, that doesn't mean he has to be cowed by them. "I hear you loud and clear. You've made your point. Now put me down."

Stiles could make J'onn release him. A few quick nudges within the mind, and Stiles could turn his fingers limp. That chest in his head rattles at the thought of it. God, it is so fucking tempting. Stiles takes a deep breath. He ignores the desperate rattling within his brain, and he waits to be put down.

J'onn holds him aloft a few moments longer as a power move. Then he lets Stiles drop. His bare feet hit the ground silently, and he leans against the lockers.

"Let's go," J'onn says.

Stiles stuffs his feet into the black flip flops and follows J'onn out of the locker room. He hates the sound the plastic makes slapping between the stone floor and his soles as he down the halls after J'onn. It's so loud, and it echoes off the walls, drawing the attention of everyone they pass. The stares range from wary to openly hostile to positively hateful, and Stiles' skin itches.

He remembers this feeling well. He remembers the way everyone looked at him while he was the Nogitsune, remembers the wide berth the whole town gave him afterwards. He scratches at his wrist, his nail jagged and sharp against the soft, inner flesh. He scrapes, scrapes, scrapes because the itch has sunk deep down to his bones. He can get this out, this rot inside of him, if only he can dig deep enough.

J'onn turns and catches his wrist, forcing his sharp nail away from the raw flesh of the other arm. There's a softer cast to J'onn's eyes as he looks back at Stiles, still walking forward, towing Stiles along behind him. It's not pity, not every really sympathy or understanding. Stiles isn't entirely sure what it is, but he wants to shrink away from it. He can't, however, not with J'onn's hand still on his wrist to keep him from scratching again.

J'onn doesn't let go until they've reached the DEO's main hub. The others are already gathered around the large holographic table in the center of the room, Kara and Superdouche both resplendent in red and blue while Alex glowers in her agent blacks. Winn and James bustle about nearby, doing something on one of the computers.

Stiles retrieves his hand as J'onn releases his wrist, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, running his fingers over and over the pilled fabric. The gemstones glued to his knee brace are quickly losing their charge, and pain bleeds through, contorting his face. He wipes it away as best he can as he and J'onn step up to the table. All those eyes on him… he can't stand them. There's concern and distrust and confusion and even fear, and there are far too many emotions directed at him all at once for him to make sense of, and he feels itchy again, his hands trembling within his pockets. He casts his gaze down to the ground. He will not let them see how he's rattled.

J'onn splays his hands on the edge of the table. Stiles stays a few steps away, his eyes still on the ground. His flesh feels swollen and hot, straining against the bonds of his skin. The chest within his mind rattles and shrieks, and he tries to ignore it, tries to focus on what J'onn is now saying, but there's a ringing in his ears, throbbing against his tight, tight, flesh.

"What else do we need to know?"

It takes Stiles a long time to realize that J'onn is directing the question at him. He's not looking at the group. He's still staring at the ground like that might somehow lessen the weight of the stares upon him, and there's something buzzing, like millions of flies filling the room, such a familiar, terrible buzzing that stops up his ears and clogs his throat and threatens to burst free from his skin.

J'onn has to reach over and nudge him, and Stiles blinks and looks up. "Huh? I don't know. I feel like I covered a lot of it. The supernatural, werewolves, my scary brain powers, the Alpha Pack, the alien who killed my boyfriend for its master… Anything I'm missing?"

"Wait, the Alpha Pack?" Alex asks, leaning on the holographic table.

Stiles gestures at Superdouche as he explains. "Superdouche, I mean man, You remember those murders and Deucalion?"

"Superdouche?" the man wonders, tilting his head to the side.

Stiles ignores him and carries on. "Yeah, pack of all Alpha werewolves. He wanted to absorb a shitton of power, so he hired a warlock. I stopped the ritual. You're welcome."

The others blink at the onslaught of new information, but Stiles shrugs. It's all old news. He's not sure there's anything left that might surprise him.

"Where's this Alpha Pack?" J'onn asks. "Are they a threat?"

"Of course they're a fucking threat," Stiles sneers. "But they're a bit preoccupied right now, trying to resurrect Ennis."

"How do you know that?"

"I spoke with their warlock. He told me. Promised to give them a bit of a runaround, distract them." Stiles claps his hands, then splays them out across the edge of the table, mirroring Alex's posture. "None of this is important. I want to know how the hell we find the Essyolyte's master."

J'onn raises an eyebrow. "Do you really think you're in a position to be making demands like that?"

Kara shifts across the holotable from J'onn. She sort of looks like her friend's parents are fighting and she doesn't know what to do about it. She scoots a little closer to Alex who still has too many emotions warring for dominance on her face. She hardly looks at Stiles. Each glance is small, a little frantic, like she's trying to hide it.

"I'll do it on my own if I have to," Stiles says, glaring at J'onn. "I've gotten this far by myself."

"And look how well that's gone," Alex mutters.

Stiles glares at her but feels guilty when she swallows her tongue. Superdouche opens his mouth to say something but closes it again when J'onn snaps at Stiles.

"And you think I'll let you leave?"

"You think you can stop me?" Stiles retorts. The chest within him rattles violently, the fox remnant within roaring for attention. He forces himself to take a deep breath, snapping another padlock around that stupid box. He takes a long, deep breath because Alex looks like she's about to grab her night-night gun again, and J'onn's fingers have tightened atop the holotable.

"Sorry," Stiles says. "I just… I have to find this dickhead. I can't rest, can't stop until I do. Surely, you guys understand that."

"Yes, of course, we do," Kara promises him. "We just need to be careful. You've already gotten yourself hurt enough over this. There has to be another way to do it."

Stiles doesn't say any of the things that run through his mind which feels like character growth for him. He doesn't say that he could care less about all the harm he's done to himself, how he'll keep on this way if it'll get him what he wants, that he'll lose every drop of blood that he has to give if it means justice for Derek.

A shadow flickers at the corner of his vision, like an arm raised in greeting, but it's gone just as soon as he turns his head.

Never mind that Derek would kick his ghostly ass for getting killed over this.

"Listen," he says instead, searching for a reasonable solution. "Why don't we set up a meeting with Luka? They're powerful—I've asked them to keep an ear to the ground for me. Maybe they've found something."

"Is that the… warlock you said was working with the… Alpha Pack?" J'onn asks. Stiles doesn't understand why he hesitations before each supernatural term. The man is a telepathic, shapeshifting alien from Mars. Why should werewolves phase him?

Stiles nods and raises an eyebrow.

"So how the hell can you trust them?" J'onn demands.

"That was the person in the cloak when we were at the Deucalion's place and at the park, right?" Superdouche asks. "They all seemed thick as thieves. Why would this Luka help us?"

"Luka's kind of like a magical mercenary," Stiles explains. "If the price is right, they'll work for anyone. Also, they seem to have taken a shine to me. They'll help."

The others look skeptical, Stiles is surprised to see that Alex seems the most thoughtful of the four of them. She bites the corner of her lip and adjusts her belt, her brow furrowing as she regards Stiles. Stiles decides to push a little harder. He can make this work. He's found the right line of logic, and he fully plans to exploit that as best he can.

"It's not like we have any DNA to track, right?" he continues, pausing to give the group time to sort through the rows of evidence they have stored in their heads. "No chemo trails, no radiation signatures, or whatever it is you people use to track critters. Sure, you could rely on accounts of public sightings or watch the traffic cams with all your sciencey doo-das, but how long is that going to take? If you get a hit on it at all. The Essyolyte's master is obviously smart, if I haven't gotten a glimpse of them in all my time searching, so do you think it's about time to try something different?"

"Fine," J'onn says shortly, and Stiles jumps with surprise.

"What?" he asks, blinking.

"We'll go along with this plan, bur the meeting will be here in the DEO, and you certainly won't be meeting with this person alone."

But Stiles shakes his head and clicks his tongue. "Luka won't come here. It has to be somewhere neutral."

"A park?" Kara suggests. "We can set up surveillance, make sure no one gets in trouble."

J'onn considers it, his brow heavy and ponderous as he taps a finger against the edge of the holotable. He looks between Stiles and Kara—Stiles tries to not appear too desperate—and then he glances at Superdouche and Alex, holding silent conversations with each of them in turn. Stiles squirms as he waits for the verdict. He's not good at this whole 'other people laying down the lay' thing. Usually, he just does whatever the fuck he wants and makes everyone else deal with the consequences.

"Okay," J'onn says with a sigh. "But we're all going with you, and James and Winn will rig the whole area with cameras and sensors."

"Did I hear my name?" Winn calls from his computer array.

J'onn waves him and James over, and the two of them squeeze in around the table. "We need you to either tap into the park security cameras or set up your own," J'onn explains, pulling up a map of the proposed park and indicating all the spots he wants surveillance in.

Stiles moves back from the table when no one is looking at him and drops into an empty chair, resting his head in one hand. His temples ache in a constant, dull throb, and he rubs at one of them, letting out a soft groan. Movement flickers at the edge of his vision, but when he tilts his head to look, there's nothing there.

"Are you alright?" Kara asks him quietly, and Stiles jumps. He hadn't heard or seen her approach, and that's supposed to be the one thing he does. He notices things, spots threats before they arrive, but he's exhausted, off his game.

He slowly, tiredly looks up a t her and tries to muster up a wan smile. "Tired," he murmurs, barely able to get the word out.

Kara pulls up a second chair and sits down, reaching out to take his hand with gentle fingers. He doesn't return her squeeze, but he doesn't reject the touch. He needs it too much.

"Do you hate me now?" Stiles whispers.

"What?" Kara asks, scooting her chair a couple inches closer to his. "No. Of course not. Why would I hate you?"

"I killed one person that you know of, two that I know of, and only one of them was technically self-defense," he explains numbly. He stares at the holoscreen as James and Winn twist and manipulate the image floating over it. "I lied to you. I manipulated you. I controlled people's minds. And I liked it. Alex hates me now. I can see it in the way she looks at me."

"Alex doesn't hate you," Kara assures him, but Stiles isn't sure he believes her. "She just has trouble with people withholding the truth after everything that happened with our father."

"Will you tell her I'm sorry?" Stiles asks.

"You should tell her yourself," Kara says, and Stiles knows that she's right. She adjust her grip on his hand, running her thump up and down his knuckles. "Why didn't you say anything from the start?"

"You have a secret identity," Stiles points out. "Is it really so easy to just say 'Hey, I'm actually Supergirl?'"

"I suppose not," Kara admits.

"I think I was doing… penance. I think I still am. It was my fault. Derek's death. My fault." Has he said this aloud to anyone else? Has he admitted this to anyone but himself? The words hurt on the way out, like knives slicing up the vulnerable flesh of his throat. He tries to swallow, but that just makes it worse as it allows the blades to cut him up a second time. He pounds his fist into his chest, trying to dislodge those awful razors, and he expects himself to spray blood when he coughs, but his hand is clean when he takes it away from his mouth. Kara rubs his back in soothing circles, though Stiles barely feels it, disconnected as he is from his own physical form.

"I got us all drunk. I brought the extra strength booze Lydia and I brewed that gets even the strongest werewolves drunk. I'm the reason our defenses were down, why we weren't alert or prepared when the Essyolyte came, why Derek couldn't protect himself properly. Why he…" Stiles can't finish. Kara gets the jist anyways.

He struggles to keep from crying. There are too many people around for that. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He can't stand the way the chair feels under his ass or the press of his own arm against his thigh, the way his muscles and tendons twist against his bones.

"Can we get out of here?" Stiles asks Kara in a tremulous voice.

"I don't know…" Kara says, glancing over at J'onn and Alex by the holotable.

The hand that Kara isn't holding dangles off his knee, and his fingers begin to shake and dance in the air, and he clenches them into a fist, but that just makes his whole hand tremble. He sees movement again, just outside his field of vision, sparking an extra pang of pain through his head as the chest within his mind rattles.

"Sure. Let's go," Kara agrees. "Want to go flying?"

Stiles nods. Flying sounds nice. Maybe he'll be able to pretend like he doesn't have a physical form all the way up there. He and Kara stand, and she keeps her fingers threaded through his. J'onn senses the movement immediately and turns to look at them, folding his thick, muscley arms over his chest. He doesn't even have to ask where they think they're going. He just raises an eyebrow and waits.

"We're going to get some fresh air," Kara says in a tone that will brook no argument.

J'onn nods and waves his hand towards the open windows at the back of the room. Still holding onto Stiles' hand, Kara leads him that way, and Stiles follows along like a zombie shambling after the scent of flesh and blood. Kara picks him up bridal style, offering him an apologetic smile as there's really no other way to carry him while she flies.

Kara bends her knees slightly and launches them into the air with a stout boom. The wind whips through Stiles' hair, and goosebumps erupt along his arms beneath the sleeves of his borrowed shirt. It's impossible to talk at these speeds, but that's fine by Stiles; that's preferable, in fact. He thought the sun would be warmer all the way up here, burning, but it's a cold light instead, slicing into his eyes. He likes watching the tiny city down below, likes being able to see the scope of it all rather than being lost amongst the hustle and bustle of the streets.

Aside from the press of Kara's arms and chest against him, Stiles is able to forget that he has a physical form at all. He takes slow, deep breathes, switching his focus from the sprawling city down below to the even more immense night sky above him. He doesn't remember dreaming the night before, but all those stars behind the haze of light pollution conjure up a sense of déjà vu, like if he and Kara would soar just a tiny bit higher, they would begin to float, filled with stardust.

But they can only stay adrift for so long. Kara might not mind the frigid cold of the far reaches of the sky, but Stiles' skinny ass can't exactly handle it, and it's not long before he's shivering in Kara's arms. She notices immediately. How could she not? He's shaking hard enough to rattle his own teeth right out of his head. Still, he's sad when they begin to descend, the ground rapidly rising up to meet them.

They set down in the very park they selected to meet Luka in, and Kara gently places him on his feet. Stiles' legs shake slightly, threatening to spill him to the ground for a second as his head wobbles. He can't remember the last time he ate. Maybe that's what this is.

He stands a few feet in front of Kara, his back to her as he watches a couple of late-night joggers make their way down the winding paths. He feels a tiny bit better now, out in the fresh, open breeze rather than sucking in the recycled, disinfectant-scented air of the DEO. His hands still shake, but it's just a faint tremor now, and he no longer feels like the whole world is closing in around him.

"Can I ask you something?" Kara asks from behind him.

"Mhm?" he replies without turning around.

Kara steps up beside him, though she angles her body forward, just as he does, so that they stand side by side, staring out at the scenery together. "When this is over… when you catch this… master or whatever, will that be enough for you?"

Will that be enough for him? That's the million dollar question. The one he doesn't have an answer for. Will he be satisfied finally? Or if not satisfied, will that hole inside him grow just a little smaller, so it doesn't always feel like its sucking his internal organs into its black depths, or will he simply lose the one thing that's been keeping him on his feet all these months?

He smiles softly, though Kara isn't looking at him. A moth flutters by, on its way over to the golden street lamp ten yards to his right. "I can only hope so," he murmurs. He doesn't know if Kara hears.


It takes James and Winn two days to get the park bugged to J'onn's satisfaction. Stiles has to stay at the DEO the entire time, and he nearly goes crazy penned up in that small suite of rooms. It's not technically a jail cell, but it might as well be for all he's allowed to leave it. Past Stiles would have broken out in an instant and gone snooping around all of the tech and research labs to see what cool things he could find, but Present Stiles is trying to stay on his best behavior, though that's certainly asking a lot.

On the morning of the third day, Alex knocks on his door to let him know that it's time to go. Stiles is glad for the call to arms—he hasn't been sleeping since he got here, and he keeps seeing those same, odd flashes at the edges of his vision every time he moves his eyes.

"Hey," he says as he opens the door, offering Alex a wan smile.

Her face is still, a little cold, and her eyes only hit his for a second before sliding away again. She matches her agent blacks now, showing him the face she gives to enemies, to strangers.

"Come on," she says brusquely, jerking her head towards the door. "It's time."

"Alex, wait," Stiles says as she turns to go. He reaches out to touch her, to grab her arm and stop her before she can walk away, but that turns out to be a mistake. She recoils immediately, wrenching her arm away from him so hard that she actually propels herself back two steps. Stiles pulls his hand to his chest, his fingers burning, and he loses the thread of what he wants to say just long enough for Alex to turn around and begin to walk away.

"I'm sorry!" he blurts out after she's gone six steps. It's practically a shout. Alex stutters to a stop, one foot dangling in the air, though she doesn't turn around.

"Look, I—Lying is second nature to me," he says. "That's not an excuse, I just… I don't trust easily. I've even had teachers betray me before—you know, the people who are supposed to protect the kids under their care." He lets out a bitter little laugh. "I've watched friends lose faith in me, and I've watched myself hurt everyone around me. First when I was trapped in my own body, watching someone else pilot it, and then when there was an evil doppelganger of me running around." He furrows his brow, bites his lip, trying to think. His thoughts are all jumbled, and he can't figure out where he's going with this, but at last Alex has turned around and is looking at him warily.

"I'm losing the thread here. I won't say that I shouldn't have lied. I had to. I didn't really know you. You didn't really know me. I'm not the sort to go tossing secrets around, no matter how much I might talk otherwise. It took Scott and me a year to tell our parents that he was a werewolf, and that was only because an evil druid kidnapped them all, and we had no choice. You have to understand that at least, as a secret agent lady." Stiles scuffs his foot against the ground, peeking carefully up at Alex's face. Her expression is guarded, but he can tell by her stance that she's at least listening, rolling his words over in her mind, processing him.

"I am sorry that I hurt you. But you have to admit—you lie to everyone everyday about what you do for work, about who Kara is. Have I really done any different?" Stiles winces, scratches at the back of his head. "Aside from the weird mind powers." He waves a hand by his temple, trying to muster up a joking smile.

Alex stares at him, folding her arms tightly across her chest. She's trying to read every line of him, and this time, Stiles won't balk or shy away. He'll be an open goddamn book. He wants so desperately to squirm or crack wise or maybe even do a little jig, but he's wrecked enough moments to know that now is the time for silence. That doesn't mean he has to like it.

"Did you ever use it on me? Your…?" Alex mimics his earlier gesture, waving her hand by her temple.

"No," Stiles promises, though he honestly doesn't remember if that's true.

Alex nods, accepting her answer. "I suppose I was a little harsh. I was just shocked, I guess. I mean, you're the last person…" She trails off and goes a little red.

"The last person you'd suspect?" stiles supplies with a short smile.

Alex flicks an eyebrow skyward. "In the interrogation room, when you got… angry…"

Stiles flinches at the memory, remembering that sudden, terrible rush of darkness, the feeling of something rising up inside of him, that bloody, buzzing, uncontrollable thing made of flies and black goo and his own fucking grief, and his vision flickers as that chest roars for attention within him. He sees that shadow in the corner of his eye again, and his balance suddenly wobbles, his bad knee giving out even through his magically reinforced brace.

Alex darts forward and catches him before he can fall too far, her hands strong and capable around his trembling arms.

"Sorry," he murmurs, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to clear out all the colors suddenly sparking across the world.

"It's okay," Alex says as she helps him regain his feet, keeping a hand on his shoulder to make sure he's okay.

"What were you saying?" Stiles asks. He cuts his eyes to the side to check on those shadows, but of course, as soon as he tries to focus on them, they shatter into nothing.

"Um…" Alex blinks, trying to recatch her previous train of thought. "Your eyes. They turned black."

Of course they fucking did. Even in his darkest days as the Nogitsune, his eyes had remained a normal, dark brown hue. So what is he now? With pitch black eyes and a monster he has to lock up tight with a flimsy, metaphysical key.

"Are you okay?" Alex asks, peering carefully into his face. Is she checking for more of that inky black? He would be.

Stiles forces a bit of pep onto his face and claps her on the shoulder with the arm she's not holding onto. "Let's do this thing, shall we?"

Obviously, Alex notices that he didn't answer her question, but she nods and gives him an extra pat before motioning for him to follow her out of the room. Relief floods through Stiles as he steps out the door, hot and fast and a little heady. At least he has fixed this one thing.

Stiles only limps a little bit as he follows Alex's black-clad form down the hallway. The first day of the full moon was the other night, and J'onn let him up onto the roof to recharge the crystals on his brace under the watchful if very confused eye of Superdouche. Stiles ignored the man as best he could, too reminded of other late nights spent out in the moonlight tiring spells as Derek did his level best to distract Stiles with all manner of… temptations.

The control or command room or whatever is bustling with activity when Stiles and Alex arrive, with J'onn barking orders to James and Winn to urge them to finish their preparations for the day's mission. Alex joins the chaos immediately, leaving Stiles to stand awkwardly to the side like some kind of seventh wheel. Kara waves at him from across the room, but she's also caught up in the activity and can't come over to say hey, so Stiles finds a pen and clicks it rapidly, pausing occasionally to doodle on his jeans. At least Kara was able to fly over to his apartment and bring back some clothes for him, so he's no longer wearing flip flops and borrowed sweats.

"Stiles!" J'onn barks from across the holotable. He's gone into total boss-man mode, all business and stern orders, which honestly isn't all that different from his usual demeanor.

Stiles gives him a little, mock salute as he drops the pen he accidentally snapped in half and hurries over. "Yeah?" He sticks his hands in his pockets and finds an old lollipop in one of them. He peels off the wrapper and pops it in his mouth, pleased to taste that it's one of his CBD lollies. J'onn gives him a look, no doubt well aware of what he's eating—the bright green color is a bit obvious, after all—but he doesn't say anything about it. Maybe this is one battle Stiles has won. He doubts that. J'onn just has bigger fish to fry.

"How do we contact this… Luka?" J'onn asks, and the whole suqad turns to look at Stiles.

He forces his spine to remain straight. This is just like any other Pack planning session, albeit without copious amounts of snacks. Stiles clears his throat, the lollipop clacking against his teeth. "I know a spell. I can give them a sort of telepathic hello."

J'onn crosses his broad arms. "I thought you said you were done with all that."

"This is different." Stiles searches for a way to explain the concept of different magics to people whose sole purviews are science and space. "There are different types of magic. The Nogitsune stuff is chaos magic. It's fueled by pain—mine, the people around me, it doesn't really matter—but this is different, more cued into the energies of the earth and shit."

The Super Friends are staring at him blankly, but Stiles is on a roll now, ready to lecture even if no one really cares.

"Before the Nogitsune, I was a spark," he says, remembering that night he first threw the mountain ash around the club, watching the way his tiny handful grew to stretch across twenty feet, the night Deaton told him he had a spark.

"What's that?" Kara asks.

Stiles can only shrug. "I don't know. Deaton never really got the chance to explain. The Nogitsune infected me before he could, corrupted the spark, I guess."

Maybe he can get it back. A small, burning hope perks up inside of him, but he squashes it quickly. Best not to feed into that line of thinking.

"Fine," J'onn says with a note of finality to his voice. "But We'll be watching, and the moment I even think you're about to backslide…" He trails off. He doesn't need to finish. Stiles gets it.

Stiles nods his agreement. It's only fair.

They pack up the last of their gear and depart. Kara and Superdouche launch themselves out the open window and into the open air, leaving the rest of them to pile into a black surveillance van in the building's carpark.

"Covert," Stiles says drily as Winn gives him a hand up. J'onn glares at him in the rearview mirror while Alex smirks in the shotgun seat.

It's cramped in the back with three men and all the surveillance equipment, and Stiles perches on a hard, metal bench with his hands on his knees, shredding the lollipop stick with his teeth bit by bit. The candy wasn't concentrated enough to give him any kind of a buzz, but the taste is comforting nonetheless.

J'onn and Alex chatter about something or the other up front, but it's quiet in the back as Winn checks on his equipment and James plays on his phone. Stiles takes out his own cell, staring at the list of missed texts from Lydia, Scott, his dad, and the rest of the Pack. He doesn't really read them—he doesn't need to; he can guess what they say—but after several long minutes of consideration, he wiggles his thumbs and begins to reply.


It takes maybe fifteen minutes to reach the park, the traffic slow but not overly dense. Stiles is jittery from all the texting and eager to jump out of the van into the open, but James and Winn don't make any move for the door, and J'onn shoots him a look to hang on when he reaches for the handle.

"James, Winn, stay in the van," J'onn says while Alex checks the clip on her gun. "We're good to go on the cameras?"

Winn trips his fingers across the keyboard. "All synced up," he says as images of the park begin to pop up on his various monitors.

"Good. Stiles, Alex, let's go." J'onn pops his door and climbs out into the bright sunlight. Stiles tucks his phone away and quickly jumps out the back, glad to feel the sun on his face and the breeze through his hair.

Kara and Superdouche descend the moment the three others step out of the van, as if they were hovering up above, waiting for everyone to arrive. Civilians gasp and point, muttering excitedly amongst themselves, though a good few scamper to get the hell out of dodge, no doubt well aware that if both Kryptonians are in the vicinity, shit is probably about to go down.

The five of them move away from the van and gather by the park's fountain. It sprays clear, sparkling water in the air, pattering against the pool underneath in an endless stream. Stiles scuffs his foot against the green grass, disturbing a ladybug which zips into the air in a whirr of red and black.

"What now?" J'onn says loudly to catch his attention. At least he doesn't snap his fingers in Stiles' face.

"I do the thing, I guess," Stiles says with a shrug.

"How long will it take?"

"Well, they can teleport, I think, so… seconds?"

J'onn nods. "Do it then."

Stiles sits down on the edge of the fountain, suddenly apprehensive. What if he's wrong and this really is the same as his dark side? What if he does this, and the lid of the chest pops right off, and he's consumed? What if this is all a huge mistake?

He can feel the others watching him, waiting to see a flash of color or sparkles or whatever else they think magic looks like, but they'll be disappointed this time around since Stiles just has to push a part of his consciousness down into the ley lines of the earth.

The chest in his mind screams, the chains around its lid rattling with such awful ferocity that Stiles flinches back, dragging his consciousness back into his own head so that nothing else can try to occupy it. He draws in a deep, shuddering breath, his whole frame shaking as he tries o nail the lid shut a little tighter.

A hand falls on his shoulder. He can tell it's Kara from the weight of it and the width of the fingers, and Stiles is able to take a deep breath and push down into the earth again.

He remembers the feeling of Luka's energy signature, so he threads his way carefully along the ley lines as the box screeches at him. He pictures Kara's hand as a weight atop the lid, holding it shut while he searches. He finds the familiar blue and silver bloom of Luka's magic and taps the warlock on the shoulder once again, drawing back into his own body as soon as he knows that Luka has sensed him.

Stiles opens his eyes, a low throb pulsing right at the back of his skull, the sun too bright against his eyes. He squints, shielding his face, and Kara draws her hands away, allowing the box to settle.

"How—" J'onn begins, but Stiles feels the pressure differential in the air shift before he can finish, and Luka pops into existence. Alex curses and draws her weapon reflexively, though she stops herself before she actually points it at Luka.

The warlock stands with their hands in the pockets of their tight, black skinny jeans, their long, silver hair tied into a tail at the nape of their neck. Their shirt is loose, the neck wide and loose and a little slutty under their silver studded leather jacket.

"Stiles," Luka drawls with a smile on their face, though they raise an eyebrow at the sight of the little cadre around him. "And co, it seems. What can I do for you?"

"I want to make another deal," Stiles says, drawing himself up from the fountain ledge. Luka flicks their eyes towards J'onn, Alex, and the Supers before landing back on Stiles, nodding for him to continue. Stiles takes a deep breath as he searches for the words. "I know you said you didn't know anything about the Essyolyte, but we need a way to find it. I had it once, but it… got away." A wash of rage, a rattle of chains, one hard swallow. "It'll go to ground, recalled by its master. We need another way to find it. We were hoping you could help."

Luka pulls their hands free and saunters forward, rolling their hips so that their steps flow like water. "I might have some information for you this time. What would you give me for it?"

"What do you want?" Stiles asks even as J'onn coughs into his hand and nudges Stiles for his attention.

Once again, Luka looks over at Kara and Superdouche, a faintly coy smile lifting one side of their mouth. They made a complicated gesture with both hands, and a silver mirror appears out of thin air, dropping two inches before they catch it. They spin the mirror once so that it catches the sun, though there's something odd about the way it reflects the light, changing its color for just a moment before Luka stops the movement.

"I'd like one of your friends there to shoot this with their heat vision," Luka says, holding the mirror out.

"Why?" J'onn demands.

"Luka smirks and winks, wagging a finger. "That sort of information would require a second deal."

"It's fine, J'onn," Kara says, patting him on the arm.

"Supergirl, we don't know this person," J'onn growls in his low, gruff voice. "We don't know anything about them. We've seen what other people have done with the energy from your heat vision. And you just want to give it out freely?"

Kara steps up beside Stiles and places her hand on his shoulder, giving J'onn a stiff, firm nod, her face a sturdy mask. "For Stiles? Yes."

A glow erupts inside Stiles, so hot it almost burns the ends off his nerves, but it a good sort of way. It's been ages since someone has been that unconditional with him, and he doesn't quite know what to do with it other than buzz with all that warmth.

Kara nods to Luka who holds out the mirror with two hands. Kara inhales a deep breath, and her eyes begin to glow a brilliant blue-white. Two beams shoot out of her face, heating up the air around her, bursting directly against the silver mirror and pushing Luka back a step, though they manage to hold their ground as the silver plate absorbs the energy of Kara's heat vision.

Soon enough, the mirror is glowing red hot, and Kara's eyes dim down to normal again. Luka flips the mirror into the air, and it disappears after three turns. "Thank you kindly," they say with a polite nod. "Now, I've been hearing some chatter amongst my contacts about strange goings-on and weird energy signatures on the eastern side of the lake. Odd sounds at night and all that. I can't confirm if it's your alien, but it's definitely not anything my people recognize. Those few brave souls who have gone to investigate haven't come back."

Stiles glances over at J'onn to see what he thinks of the lead, but the alien's expression is as hard to read as ever. Alex is nodding though, her brow furrowed as she thinks about it.

"We done here?" Luka asks, and when Stiles nods, they disappear without another word or blip of fanfare. Stiles wishes he could do that. Seems like a handy trick.

Supergirl immediately turns to talk with J'onn and Alex, but Stiles finds himself distracted by the shadows in the corner of his eye because this time, when he turns to try and catch it in the act, there's something there, the black of the leather jacket start against the bright sunlight. His heart stops, and he takes a step back, unable to believe the mirage poised before his eyes.

It's Derek, his expression blank and unreadable, but just as soon as Stiles blinks, he's gone again without even a depression in the grass to indicate that he was there.