Meteor Freak
Episode 14: Crush
Date: Saturday, October 1, 2011.
Location: Metropolis Children's Hospital, Metropolis, Delaware
The storm raged outside Metropolis Children's Hospital. Lightning split the darkness, rain lashed the glass in sheets, and thunder rolled across the city like a distant avalanche. In the radiology department, Justin Gaines stood before his easel. His dark, slightly curly hair fell across his forehead as he hunched over his work. The sign on the door behind him read 'Radiology' in stark black letters.
Dr. Wells appeared in the doorway, dressed in his evening wear, an impeccably tailored suit. He paused there for a moment, watching the teenager.
"Justin." The doctor stepped into the room. "I just thought I'd stop by and say goodbye. I heard you were going back to Smallville tomorrow."
Justin's hand stilled on the marker. He glanced toward the doctor, then turned back to his easel without a word, continuing his crude sketch of a face. He'd been drawing since before he could write. His first-grade teacher had called his parents in to show them cartoons she hadn't believed a six-year-old had made. By middle school, he'd known, with the certainty that most people spend their whole lives searching for, exactly who he was supposed to be. Everything else, school, sports, had been the space between drawings. Now the drawings were gone. Now he was just the space.
"Yeah. Smallville." His voice carried no enthusiasm.
Dr. Wells moved closer, hands clasped behind his back. "How's it going?"
Justin's movements slowed. He turned the easel toward the doctor, revealing his bandaged hands wrapped in white gauze from fingertips to wrists. The crude drawing was a simple face made with shaky lines.
"You tell me."
"You've been here five months. You've come a long way. Your body has done a lot of healing."
"Except for my hands." Justin held up the bandaged appendages, flexing his fingers with visible effort. "My whole life, when things were bad, I drew. When my parents fought, I drew. When I didn't have friends, when I didn't fit anywhere, I drew. And it wasn't just something I did. It was what I was. An artist." He looked at the clumsy lines on the paper in front of him. The face was barely recognizable as human. Five months ago, he could have done it in thirty seconds with his eyes half-closed. "Now that's gone. So tell me what I'm supposed to heal into."
Dr. Wells reached out and placed a hand on Justin's shoulder. "You suffered severe nerve damage. It's lucky that you have any movement in your hands at all. I did everything I could, you know that."
Justin pulled away from the touch. "Really? Is that what you told the five patients who filed malpractice suits against you?"
The doctor's jaw tightened. "I can understand you're still angry. But blaming me isn't going to change your condition. You were in an accident, and you have to accept that."
"I was in a hit-and-run." Justin's voice had an edge.
Dr. Wells sighed, looking down at his own hands. "You know, when I was your age, I wanted to be a violinist. So I applied to the conservatory, but I failed the audition. The instructor told me that I had the hands of a surgeon." He held them up, studying them in the dim light. "And that's why I moved into medicine. As one door closes, another one opens."
Lightning flashed again. "You're young, you'll find something new. Goodbye, Justin."
Dr. Wells turned and walked toward the door, his footsteps echoing in the small room. Justin remained by the easel, his bandaged hands at his sides.
After a pause, Justin spoke to the empty room. "Have a nice life, Dr. Wells."
René stood waiting near the elevators, elegant in her black evening gown, fingers fidgeting with her earring. Dr. Wells joined her, shaking his head as he reached her side. They began walking together toward the elevators.
"René, honey, I'm sorry. Sheesh..." He shook his head again.
"Another ungrateful patient?"
"Aren't they all?"
A blue-garbed hospital worker exited the elevator as they approached. Dr. Wells and René stepped inside, the doors closing behind them.
"So you think he'll sue?" René asked as the doctor pressed the button for their floor.
"He doesn't have any proof." Dr. Wells hit the button. "He's alive. He should be thanking me."
The elevator doors closed with a soft chime.
Back in the radiology room, Justin reached for his easel and carefully removed the clumsy sketch he'd been working on. Beneath it, a more detailed crayon portrait was revealed, a careful rendering of Dr. Wells' face, drawn with the skill that had once come so naturally to him.
He looked at it for a long moment. His hands couldn't do it, but he still could. His own special way, with his own special method.
In the elevator, the floor indicator showed 14 as they began their descent. Suddenly, the elevator lurched, shaking violently.
"What's going on?" René's voice rose in alarm.
The elevator shook again, throwing both occupants against the walls. In the shaft, cables groaned and machinery squealed as the car began to fall, the floor indicator rapidly decreasing.
13, 12, 11, 10...
Inside the car, René and Dr. Wells were thrown to the floor, screaming as they plunged toward disaster.
"You ok?" Dr. Wells called out, struggling to his feet.
René nodded, accepting his help to stand. The elevator had stopped its fall, but they could feel it swaying uncertainly in the shaft.
"Get us out of here! Hurry up! Come on!" René's composure cracked as she watched the doctor fumble with the control panel.
Dr. Wells grunted with effort as he worked to pry open the elevator doors. "Come on!"
The doors opened partially, revealing a narrow gap. They were stuck between floors.
"Help!" Dr. Wells called through the gap.
"Help us!" René added. The elevator shook again, and she grabbed his arm. "That's it. Give me a hand up."
"All right."
She climbed through the gap with his assistance, her evening gown catching on the metal edges.
In the radiology room, Justin picked up a red marker pen. He stared down at the portrait of Dr. Wells, then slowly began to scribble over the hand in the drawing, red ink bleeding across the careful lines.
Back at the elevator, Dr. Wells reached up through the gap. "Ok, grab my hands."
René reached down and grasped his hands, trying to pull him up.
The view down the elevator shaft revealed the precarious position of the car, cables straining and machinery groaning. A woman's scream echoed up from below as the elevator plummeted the rest of the way down the shaft.
Taking Dr. Wells and leaving René holding his severed hands.
In the radiology room, Justin continued scribbling over the hand in his portrait, the red marker moving in deliberate strokes. As he worked, a slow smile spread across his face.
— Meteor Freak —
Nestled in the woods above Crater Lake, a clearing was filled with Smallville High students gathered for their latest party. Tyson took in the makeshift bonfire, scattered coolers, and clusters of teenagers huddled together for warmth and conversation. Red Solo cups dotted the landscape.
Chloe sidled up to Tyson, her breath visible in the chilly air. "This is what I love about high school parties," she said, gesturing broadly. "People will gather anywhere as long as there's illegally purchased alcohol and even the slightest chance of hooking up."
"Is that why you brought me out here, Chloe? You planning to get me drunk and trying to hook up with me?"
Chloe's cheeks flushed, whether from embarrassment or the cold was hard to tell. "You wish!" she mumbled, wrapping her arms around herself. "I wouldn't have let you bring Lana if that was the case… But man, I didn't know it was going to be this cold. It's like twenty thousand degrees below zero out here. It's freezing. I'm going to go thaw out by the fire. Have fun."
As Chloe made her way to the bonfire, Tyson watched her go. Sean Kelvin, a stocky football player with a reputation for womanizing, approached with a few teammates in tow. Their swagger was unmistakable, fueled by liquid courage and misplaced bravado.
"Hey, Scarecrow!" Sean called out. "You know what I've noticed? Since you came to town, our team has been falling apart. Whitney, Brett, Coach Walt. Maybe it'd be better if you went back to wherever you came from."
Tyson's jaw tightened at that nickname, a reminder of his welcome to Smallville's cruelest tradition.
"Since I came to town, the team has been undefeated." Without breaking eye contact with Sean, he shrugged off his coat and raised his voice. He tossed it and yelled to Chloe. "Here, wear my coat. I don't want to get any blood on my jacket."
The surrounding conversations hushed as people turned to watch. Sean's face twisted into a sneer. "Oh, we got a tough guy," he taunted, stepping closer.
Tyson stood his ground. "Wouldn't be the first time I took on three other guys on the football team," he said. "And you're smaller than they were. I've lined up across from you at practice. You hit like a bitch."
A collective "ooh" rippled through the crowd as more teens circled up, eager for the fight.
Nearby, Lana spotted Whitney watching. "Whitney, you should stop this," she urged.
"Why? Are you worried about Tyson?"
Lana shot him an exasperated look. "I'm more worried about your teammates," she snapped.
Back in the center of the crowd, Sean's demeanor shifted. The aggression drained out of him as he realized Tyson was serious. "Hey, relax. I was just kidding, man," he said, tone gone surprisingly casual. "You're friends with Chloe. Is she with you, or is she flying solo tonight?"
He glanced over at Chloe, watching the exchange with wide eyes from her spot by the fire. "Are we fighting, or are you asking me to be your wingman? Because getting your ass kicked isn't a great way to pick up girls unless you're looking for the sympathy angle."
Whitney cut in. "Hey, guys. Save it for the field, we've got playoffs starting next week."
The tension deflated. Some of the onlookers chuckled, others groaned at the anticlimactic turn. Sean's teammates exchanged bewildered looks, unsure whether to stand down. Sean cracked a reluctant smile.
Tyson kept his eyes on Sean and his teammates. "So, what's it going to be? Are we going to have a problem, or are you actually interested in talking with Chloe?"
Sean hesitated; the alcohol in his system seemed to be warring with his better judgment. Finally, he shrugged. "Just curious, man. No need to get all worked up."
As Sean and his friends retreated, the circle of spectators dispersed, returning to their previous conversations, leaving Tyson alone with Whitney. The quarterback stood a few feet away, hands shoved deep in his letterman jacket pockets.
Before Tyson could make his own exit, Whitney quietly said, "Thanks."
He paused, turning back. "For what?"
Whitney glanced around, making sure they weren't being overheard. "Despite what you think, I'm not dumb. I know you did something to make me better."
"I've no idea what you're talking about."
Whitney stepped closer. "I had that concussion for weeks. Every time I thought it was getting better, one small hit and the symptoms came back right away. Headaches, dizziness, the whole thing. But you visit me with Lana, and it's all gone, almost immediately. Not exactly subtle."
Tyson kept his face neutral. "Most concussions resolve in a few weeks. You just healed."
"Right," Whitney said, no sarcasm in it, just a weary acceptance. He looked out toward the lake. "My father had a heart attack. That's why he was in the hospital."
Tyson had learned about George Fordman's condition when he and Lana visited, but hearing Whitney acknowledge it directly carried a different weight.
"The doctors were worried his heart was failing," Whitney continued, voice quieter now. "They had him on all these medications, monitoring his blood pressure constantly. Said we needed to prepare for the worst. Since then, his blood pressure has been normal, all the side effects are gone, and he's been discharged with a clean bill of health."
Whitney shook his head slowly. "That's not the kind of thing that happens. Heart failure doesn't just... disappear. I should be preparing for his funeral, but instead he's preparing to watch me play next weekend."
Tyson shrugged. "Glad you and your dad are feeling better."
Whitney studied him for a long moment. When no crack came, he nodded slowly. "You're not fooling me," he said finally. "You did something. But I appreciate it. I wasn't exactly happy with you stealing my girlfriend, but you more than made up for it. No hard feelings over anything." Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, hands still buried in his jacket pockets.
It was as close to an apology as he was likely to offer.
Tyson watched him go. Whitney had strung him up in a field the first night he was in town. The grudge he'd been holding had been extra weight. He'd been honest with himself that Whitney Fordman had been in the category of unresolved business. Now Whitney had walked over, and Tyson found that the unresolved thing had resolved without any fanfare at all. George Fordman was alive and healthy enough to watch his son play next weekend because Tyson had made a choice. He thought about how that choice had cost him nothing and changed everything for that family, how quietly enormous that was, how it was the kind of thing that never made it onto any ledger anyone else could see.
Meanwhile, Sean had sauntered over to Chloe, who sat huddled by the fire, hands outstretched toward the warmth. "If you'd like, I could rub them for you. Nothing heats up a body like friction."
Chloe's eyebrows shot up, lips curling into a mix of amusement and disbelief. "Wow. I can't believe you just delivered that line with a straight face."
Sean shrugged. "All I did was offer to keep your hands warm, Chloe."
"And he knows my name," Chloe remarked, tone dripping with sarcasm.
"I've read your editorials in the Torch. Pretty cool."
Chloe tilted her head. "Well, thank you, Sean. I sit next to Jenna in Bio class. Remember, you dumped her last week?"
Sean's confident demeanor faltered. "It was mutual."
"So you're here trolling for fresh meat," Chloe concluded sharply.
Sean recovered quickly, flashing a charming smile. "Don't worry, Chloe, I'm not going to make a move on you, no matter how pretty I think you are."
Before Chloe could respond, Whitney called, "Yo, Sean! Hail Marys down by the lake!"
Sean glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to Chloe. "Yeah, uh, hey, can I get your number?"
"Why? You're never going to call."
"I'll call you tomorrow, I promise," Sean insisted.
Chloe shook her head. "Well, I won't hold my breath."
As Sean jogged off to join Whitney and the other players by the lake, Tyson made his way over to Chloe and settled down beside her.
"Did you just give your phone number to Sean Kelvin?" Tyson asked, disbelieving.
Chloe rolled her eyes. "Don't sound so shocked. Guys do find me attractive even though I don't have raven hair and—"
Tyson held up his hands defensively. "That's not what I meant. The guy's a dick. Besides, I just wingmanned for you. You're welcome."
Chloe laughed, the sound light and genuine. "I just gave him my number to get rid of him." She glanced around the clearing, noting the dwindling crowd. "There's a taxi leaving. Think I'll head home." She started to shrug off Tyson's jacket. "You want your jacket back?"
He waved her off. "Nah, I'm good. Stay warm."
"Thanks," Chloe said, flashing him a grateful smile before heading toward the waiting taxi.
— Meteor Freak —
Down by the lake, Whitney and Sean tossed a football back and forth. Whitney caught the ball and held it. "So what's with you and that Chloe Sullivan chick?"
Sean raised an eyebrow. "The girl from the Torch? You into her?"
"Another notch, dog," Sean smirked.
"That's cold." Whitney's attention shifted as a car pulled up near the party. "Hey, hold on. Pizza's here."
He launched the football toward Sean. The spiral was tight, but Sean's fingers just grazed the pigskin. It sailed past him, bounced across the frozen surface of the lake, and came to rest a good distance from shore.
"Sorry, dude," Whitney called out, wincing at the overthrow.
Sean waved off the apology. "Go ahead. I'll get the ball."
As Whitney jogged back toward the party, Sean stepped cautiously onto the ice. The frozen surface creaked beneath his weight, but he pressed on. Cold seeped through his shoes, numbing his toes as he inched forward. He reached the ball, scooped it up, and turned back toward shore.
He took his first step back, and a sharp crack echoed across the ice.
He froze. The sound hung in the air, a warning. Sean weighed his options. Run and risk breaking through, or move slowly and hope the ice holds. He opted for caution and took another careful step. The ice protested again, louder this time. Panic set in as he understood the precariousness of his position. He was about to make a dash for safety when a series of rapid cracks split the air.
The ice gave way.
The football slipped from his hands as he plunged into the frigid water. The shock stole the breath from his lungs, and he flailed wildly, searching for the surface.
The hole had already begun to refreeze above him. His fists pounded against the underside of the ice. The cold sapped his strength with each passing second, his movements slowing to nothing.
Sean's lungs burned. His vision blurred, and the world above grew more distant. In his final moments of consciousness, a strange calm washed over him. His struggles ceased, and he drifted down to the lake bottom, the party above continuing on, oblivious.
Back at the gathering, the absence of one kid went largely unnoticed. A partygoer nursing a red cup glanced around. "Hey, where's Sean?"
A nearby football player shrugged, attention more focused on the newly arrived pizza. "Who knows? He's probably in the back of some car."
The comment drew a few chuckles, and the party continued unabated. Music blared from speakers, people danced and laughed, and the pizza boxes were quickly emptied.
— Meteor Freak —
The morning sun crept over the horizon as Sean Kelvin, now with blue-tinged skin, broke through the thin layer of ice covering the lake. He stumbled to his feet, shivering violently, and made his way back to the clearing where the party had taken place the night before. The area was deserted now, with empty beer cans and discarded cups littering the ground. Sean spotted the fire pit, where small flames still flickered among the ashes. He lurched forward.
He held his trembling hands over the dying embers, seeking whatever warmth remained. His breath came out in visible puffs, each exhale seeming to draw the heat from the fire into his body. Slowly, the blue tinge of his skin began to fade. Color returned to his cheeks, spreading outward until his entire body regained its normal hue. The shivering ceased, and Sean's posture straightened as strength returned to his limbs.
He flexed his fingers. His skin, moments earlier, cold and clammy, felt warm and dry. Sean shook out the last droplets of water from his hair and turned away from the fire pit.
He'd taken a few steps when he looked back over his shoulder.
Where moments ago small flames had flickered, now there was only a cluster of ice crystals. The fire was completely gone, replaced by frost.
Sean stopped. He looked down at his hands, then back at the icy fire pit.
He'd been underwater. He remembered that clearly: the shock of the cold, the burning in his lungs, the ice reforming above him while his fists couldn't find purchase on anything solid. And then nothing, a blank, a skip in the record, and then he was standing on the ice in the early morning, the sun already up, still breathing. He should be dead. You go under frozen water in October, you don't come back up without help.
He hadn't had help.
He looked at his hands again. They felt normal. Which was wrong, given what they'd just done, something impossible given the ice crystals where the fire had been, the cold that had spread from his palms like something leaking out of him.
Sean Kelvin was not a person who examined things too closely, but standing in an empty clearing at six in the morning with frost spreading from his footprints required at least some consideration. After a moment, he shook his head and kept walking. He made his way out of the clearing, leaving behind the eerie scene of the frozen fire pit.
— Meteor Freak —
Red banners hung from the basketball hoops.
"Welcome to Smallville High Career Day"
Students moved between booths in the gymnasium. Clark Kent adjusted his black jacket over his sky-blue t-shirt. He'd been making the rounds for the better part of an hour, collecting pamphlets he'd probably never read and nodding politely at recruiters who had no idea they were talking to someone who could bench press a school bus.
"Clark Kent, right?" Danny Kwan called, clutching a stack of Air Force brochures. "I see you in a uniform flying. Have you ever considered a career in the Air Force?"
The irony wasn't lost on Clark. If Danny only knew. Clark couldn't fly, but maybe one day. After all, Kara could.
"Um, I'll think about it." Clark turned and walked off.
The gymnasium was filled with booths decorated with balloons in school colors and representatives from colleges, military branches, and local businesses, all vying for teenage attention. He spotted Pete Ross near the far wall, wearing his tan jacket over a red-brown tee-shirt, accepting a yellow sheet of paper from a woman with glasses seated behind a desk practically wallpapered with union flags. Pete's smile was so broad it looked like it might split his face in two.
Clark approached as the woman called after them, "...to see you this summer..."
"What are you smiling about?" he asked.
"I just landed a summer job at Mayor Siegel's office working on his re-election campaign." Pete waved the paper like a victory flag.
Clark raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were gonna help your mom out down at the courthouse?"
"Judge Ross can get a KSU student to schlep her files. Besides, who wants to hang out with their parents all summer long?" Pete's enthusiasm faltered slightly as he caught Clark's expression.
"Yeah." Clark sighed.
Pete winced and punched Clark's arm gently. "Sorry, Clark."
They caught up with Tyson standing between two booths like a man caught in indecision. The Metropolis University display was covered with promotional materials showcasing the city's skyline, while Gotham State University's booth was deliberately understated, its materials focused on academic rigor.
"Trying to pick between the city of tomorrow and well…" Clark asked, gesturing between the two displays. "I hear Gotham's like the city that's afraid to sleep. You know, with all the crazy people and crime."
Tyson's lips quirked at Clark's assessment, but his expression stayed thoughtful. The joke hit closer to home than Clark realized. Tyson knew exactly what both cities represented in this world. Metropolis, the shining beacon of hope, where Superman would one day protect millions. Gotham, the dark mirror where Batman waged his war on crime in the shadows. But as he stared at the booths, his mind wandered to bigger questions.
What was he going to do at the end of this year?
Clark would leave Smallville eventually, probably heading for Metropolis, where his destiny waited. Kara was already there, doing who knew what. The path seemed clear for the future Man of Steel.
Looking at the Gotham State booth again, Tyson wondered if that's where he should go instead. If Smallville was any example of how this world really worked, with its weekly crises and hidden dangers, should he really follow Clark to Metropolis? Or were there places that would fit him better, places that might actually need him? Despite all the fun and action he'd experienced since arriving in this world… Did Clark really need him? Probably not. The guy was Superman, or would be one day. Tyson's presence might actually be stunting Clark's development, helping where help wasn't really needed.
Then there was Jason. Dean. Knowing what he did about the supernatural world, about the Colt and the things that went bump in the night, maybe that's where he could do the most good. Magic was Clark's weakness, one of the few things the future Superman couldn't handle on his own. Should that be Tyson's goal, to handle those things that Clark couldn't?
"Yo man, you good?" Pete snapped his fingers in front of Tyson's face. "Spacing out today."
Tyson blinked, pulling himself back to the present. "Just thinking about the future."
"Worried about the Talon opening?" Pete asked.
Tyson smiled, the familiar confidence returning. "Nah, that's in the bag. We'll be showing the first Star Wars for our opening night. No more need to party out in the cold-ass woods."
Pete's brow furrowed. "When you say 'the first Star Wars,' do you mean A New Hope, or The Phantom Menace?"
"The Phantom Menace."
"Aww man." Pete's face fell like someone had told him Christmas was canceled. "The prequels, really?"
"Listen, the prequels get way too much hate. Yeah, they're different from the originals, but they're actually incredible when you really think about them. The political intrigue, the fall of democracy, watching Anakin's transformation into Vader, that's storytelling gold. Plus, the lightsaber fights? And don't even get me started on how they expanded the mythology of the Force and the Jedi Order."
They continued walking. The sign behind them read 'Daily Planet'. Clark glanced back toward the Air Force booth, where Danny Kwan was still enthusiastically distributing brochures. "Did you notice Principal Kwan's son down at the Air Force booth?"
Pete chuckled, shaking his head. "Growing up with Kwan, the Air Force must seem like a vacation."
Chloe approached from the Daily Planet stall, her maroon-red trouser suit with striped trousers making her stand out among the casual dress of most students. She carried a green sheet of paper and wore a smile that didn't quite hide her nervous energy.
"Wow, you look nice," Clark said.
Chloe's cheeks flushed slightly. "Thanks, I was, uh, kind of going for professional." She held up the green paper. "Did you know that the Daily Planet only takes four high school interns from the whole country?"
"Ah, you're a sure one, Chloe," Pete said with characteristic confidence.
Chloe's smile faltered. "Tell him that. He said they received over five hundred applicants last year. I doubt I'll even get an interview."
Clark gestured toward the Inquisitor booth. "Well, there's always the Inquisitor. Didn't Lex offer to hook you up?"
They began walking off together, Chloe falling into step between the three boys as they navigated through the crowd.
"No," her voice carried absolute conviction. "I'm interning at the Planet, I don't care if it's delivering coffee to the classified department."
"So you guys are planning your summer internships, but what about next year? Have you guys started applying to colleges?" Tyson asked.
Clark nodded. "The early decision deadline is coming up. I've already finished my application for Princeton."
"Princeton?" Tyson couldn't quite hide his surprise.
He'd spent weeks cataloguing the ways Clark's life was tracking toward its known destination. The journalism was marked by his time with Chloe at the Torch. The moral instincts, the way he jumped to help people in trouble like a man already understanding his own power and the responsibility that came with it. Yet now Clark was applying to Princeton, and he looked like any other high school senior who wanted to go to a good school. It made Tyson wonder. Did knowing how someone's story ended mean you understood how they were living it? Clark wasn't tracking toward Superman on a timetable anyone had given him. He was just making his choices, one at a time, and they happened to be adding up to something. Tyson had guessed Clark would shoot for Metropolis University, given his eventual destiny. Princeton was in New Jersey, not terribly far from this world's Metropolis and Gotham City. It wasn't what he'd expected, but it would probably work for having Superman eventually based in Metropolis. There was something clarifying about being blindsided by that. Like proof that the destination mattered less than the accumulation of small decisions that led there.
"Tyson here is thinking about Gotham State," Pete said, clearly trying to keep the conversation moving.
Chloe stopped walking so abruptly that Clark nearly bumped into her. "Gotham State? Tyson, you saved my life, and I'll be forever appreciative. But you're a big fish here. Gotham will chew you up and spit you out into a puddle. There are gangs and crimelords all over the city. There's even a vigilante who hunts criminals on the streets. It's so bad that the authorities turn to him to solve some of their problems."
"Batman? You're talking about Batman?" Tyson asked.
Chloe nodded emphatically. "That's what they call him. The Gotham Gazette has been running stories about him for months now. A masked vigilante who works at night. The police won't officially comment, but there are reports of criminals being found tied up with notes attached, evidence of their crimes laid out for the authorities."
Pete whistled low. "Sounds like something out of a comic book."
"It's real," Chloe insisted. "I've been following the story. There are witness accounts, police reports that have been leaked, and even some grainy photos. The guy apparently dresses like a bat and has access to military-grade equipment. Some people think he's ex-military or special forces."
Clark frowned. "That doesn't sound like someone the police should be working with. Taking the law into your own hands..."
"That's just it," Chloe continued. "From what I can tell, he's not killing anyone. He's gathering evidence, stopping crimes in progress, and leaving everything for the proper authorities. It's like he's trying to work within the system, just... outside of it. And the Gotham Police Department has embraced him. They even have this giant signal that they shine in the sky to get his attention."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Chloe. You really don't think I could handle Gotham? I'm not a country kid like the rest of you. I'm from New York. And weren't you the one who said I was like a hero around here? Or were you only talking about Eric?"
"Still bitter about that, huh? I'd offer another kiss, but, well, you've got eyes for Lana…"
"Acceptable. In other news… did Sean call?"
Chloe rolled her eyes. "Negative. Not that I was waiting by the phone or anything."
Pete, ever the optimist, chimed in. "Maybe he got caught up. One time, my sister didn't hear from a guy for a week. When she called to tell him off, it turned out his grandmother died."
Chloe let out a small sigh. "Ah, as much as I appreciate the spotlight here, I'm fine."
"You're probably better off. Sean's a bitch."
Pete's eyebrows shot up. "He's not that bad, Tyson. He's always been cool to me. Just because he called you the scarecrow, don't knock us for trying to make a love connection."
Chloe cleared her throat. "I thought we were focusing on me, here."
Tyson grinned, his tone playful. "We are, but everyone knows, bitches ain't shit but hoes and tricks."
Chloe's eyes widened in mock horror. "Language... and don't think I didn't notice you just quoted Snoop Dogg."
Tyson's grin widened. "See. You recognize Snoop lyrics. That alone makes you too good a catch for Sean."
Pete nudged Tyson with his elbow. "Then why don't you date her?"
"Because I'm dating Lana." Tyson shot back without missing a beat.
Chloe pointed at Pete. "Okay, wait! First off, I'm not some desperate love-sick loser you guys need to help find a boyfriend for." Then she turned her finger on Tyson. "Second off, since when did you and Lana make things official?"
"That's fair. Chloe, you're beautiful and smart, and my best girl-friend around here. I'd wife you up if it wasn't for Lana… and Kara… I'm just trying to look out for your best interests, and Sean ain't it. Just because me, and Pete, and Clark all have boos, isn't a negative reflection on you. You don't need a man to prove yourself. As for when we made things official, consider it an inside scoop."
"That's a little better. Work on that. But I noticed the dodge with the Lana question."
Tyson's grin turned mischievous as he clearly enjoyed the spotlight. "Oh, the reporter wants the full inside, unfiltered scoop? Well, we consummated our relationship two weeks ago—"
"Ugh, gag!" Chloe's face turned bright red as she threw up her hands. "Please just stop. I take it back."
Clark nearly stumbled over his own feet. The casual way Tyson had just dropped that bombshell in the middle of a crowded gymnasium made him feel like he'd been hit by a meteor fragment.
Tyson looked directly at Clark with that same playful expression. "What about you and Kyla?"
"I think there's been enough oversharing for one day," Clark said quickly.
"For real," Pete agreed, shaking his head.
Tyson spread his hands innocently, his smile never wavering. "Hey, you guys were the ones who asked."
Pete pointed an accusing finger at Chloe. "That was all her."
"What?" Chloe sputtered. "I just asked when you made it official! I didn't ask for a play-by-play of your activities!"
Clark cleared his throat. "Maybe we should focus on the career fair?"
"Oh no," Chloe said, crossing her arms. "Now I'm curious about this Kyla situation. You hardly mention her."
Pete nodded eagerly. "Yeah, Clark's been pretty secretive about the whole thing."
"There's nothing secretive about it. She's just... It's complicated."
Pete grinned. "Maybe Clark's been taking lessons from Tyson on keeping secrets."
"I don't keep secrets. I'm an open book. Ask me anything."
"Please don't," Chloe said quickly. "I'm still recovering from the last revelation."
Clark looked around the gymnasium, as if searching for an escape route. The career fair suddenly seemed a lot less overwhelming than this conversation. "You know what?" he said, backing away slightly. "I think I hear the Princeton booth calling my name."
"Oh no you don't," Chloe said, grabbing his arm. "You're not getting away that easy, Kent."
Just as Chloe was about to lay into Clark, Sean appeared, walking toward them. Pete nudged Chloe gently. "Maybe this is your chance."
Tyson kept his eyes on Sean. "If he acts like a dick, I'm going to run interference."
Chloe mumbled, "Don't you dare. I can take care of myself."
Sean called out as he approached, "Chloe, don't I owe you a phone call?"
Chloe shrugged, trying to appear casual. "I guess so."
Sean's eyes darted around nervously. "Well, what are you doing now?"
"Well, we're almost done here. I've got to get lunch," Chloe replied.
Sean's face fell slightly. "Oh."
Chloe, sensing an opportunity, pressed on. "Maybe after school, we could, you know, do something?"
Before Sean could respond, he spotted something over Chloe's shoulder. He caught sight of Jenna Barnum walking by. "Jenna! Jenna, wait up!" Without another word to Chloe, Sean jogged away, leaving her standing there in stunned silence.
Chloe's face fell, a mix of confusion and hurt in her eyes. "Okay, I was playing barely-hard-to-get. What's the problem?"
"Not to rub it in, but the guy's just trying to score," Tyson said, his earlier suspicions confirmed. "He couldn't even bother to finish the flirty banter. That's some real dick shit."
Pete shook his head. "You're really salty for this guy."
Tyson bit his tongue, holding back the real reason for his concern. It wasn't that Sean was a dick. Most of the football players around here were. The problem was the green aura surrounding Sean. The same one that surrounded every Meteor Freak. Something had changed in Sean since the previous night. He hadn't had an aura then.
Chloe slammed her locker shut as students shuffled past down the hallway after leaving the career fair. A hand settled on her shoulder. She spun around, expecting Lana or maybe one of her other friends, but instead found herself face-to-face with Justin. He stood there in a black-and-grey sweatshirt, his dark hair a little longer than she remembered, falling across his forehead.
"Hi," he said simply.
"Hey!" The word burst out of her before she could stop it, accompanied by a smile so broad it made her cheeks ache. Without thinking, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. "How are you? It's so good to see you! When did you get back?"
"Just today." He pulled back slightly, though his hands lingered at her waist for a heartbeat longer than necessary. "Listen, I just wanted to thank you for sending all those e-mails." Something hesitant in his voice, like he wasn't sure how she'd react. "They really got me through a tough time."
Heat crept up Chloe's neck. She'd agonized over every single one of those emails, deleting and rewriting them countless times before hitting send. "Well, I'm sure that lots of people kept in touch."
"Hey, you'd be surprised. For most of my friends, it was out of sight, out of mind."
"I know the feeling." She cleared her throat, forcing brightness back into her voice. "So, when can you start drawing your cartoon again? Everybody's been waiting for the further adventures of the Flaming Crows' Feet."
Justin paused, his gaze dropping to the floor. When he looked back up, something vulnerable had settled in his expression. Slowly, he raised his left hand, and Chloe's breath caught. Two of his fingers were still buddy-taped, the skin around them mottled with fading bruises in shades of yellow and purple.
"Unfortunately, my drawing hand's kinda shot."
"Oh, I'm sorry." The words felt inadequate, but she didn't know what else to say.
"It's okay. I'm in the process of re-evaluating my life." He said it with a self-deprecating smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, but then his expression brightened into something more genuine. "So listen, is there any chance that maybe I could buy you a cup of coffee, or one of those non-fat, no foam lattes that you like?"
The fact that he remembered her coffee order sent a warm flutter through her chest. She was about to answer when her phone buzzed against her palm. The screen lit up with Sean's name. Without hesitation, she swiped to voicemail.
"Yeah." She shook her head, partly at herself for how easy the decision was, partly at the absurdity of the timing. "Why not. Um... I'm in the process of re-evaluating my life, too. So..." She gestured between them with a small laugh, and Justin's smile widened in response. They fell into step together, walking down the hallway past clusters of students who barely glanced their way.
"The Beanery?" Justin asked.
"Perfect," Chloe said.
The Beanery at three in the afternoon on a weekday was almost empty, which suited them both without either of them saying so. Chloe's non-fat, no-foam latte arrived, and Justin watched her take the first sip with satisfaction.
"You wrote in one of your emails that the hospital coffee was like drinking someone's disappointment in liquid form," she said.
"That's accurate." He turned his cup in his hands. "You remembered that."
"I remember everything you wrote. That's what happens when you're a compulsive re-reader with no social life." She said it lightly, the way she deflected most things, but then she looked at him and added, "I mean it as a compliment. You wrote like you thought I was actually going to read it. Most people write emails like they think no one's really going to read them."
— Meteor Freak —
Chloe held up the newspaper, pointing to the colorful comic strip panel. "This one's definitely my favourite strip."
Justin leaned closer to examine his 'Flaming Crows Feet' cartoon. "Really?"
"Yes." She smiled, her finger tracing the edge of the panel.
"Do you..." Justin started, then Tyson walked into the Torch.
"Hey, oh. Didn't mean to interrupt."
Chloe's shoulders tensed slightly. "Tyson, meet Justin. Justin just got back from Metropolis General." She gestured between them. "Justin, Tyson is a new student who enrolled while you were away. He's the receiver on the football team." Her tone carried a subtle edge. A quick glance at Justin communicated the rest.
Tyson had terrible timing.
What Chloe didn't know was that Tyson had spotted her through the doorway and caught the distinctive green Meteor Freak aura surrounding the guy she was with. Expecting to find Sean, he'd stepped in to intervene, only to discover it was someone else entirely.
"Nice to meet you, and welcome back, I guess." Tyson extended his hand. "Metropolis General's a hospital, I assume. How're you feeling?"
Justin shook his hand carefully, drawing Tyson's attention to the injury. "Oh, um... Just kind of taking it one day at a time."
"Justin was in a hit and run," Chloe explained. "Did they ever find the driver who hit you?"
"No. No, I couldn't really give the police that much. I didn't remember anything for a long time."
Chloe leaned forward. "Well, what do you remember?"
"Um, a little bit of the license plate. DDI."
"Well, we should look into it!"
"Ok."
Chloe turned to Tyson, tilting her head in a way that clearly suggested he should be leaving. "Justin's going through his old comics with me."
"Yeah, are you a comic guy?" Justin asked. "Want to check it out?"
Before Tyson could respond, Chloe jumped in. "No. Um... Tyson's not that interested in journalism or comics."
Justin looked between them, picking up on the tension. "Right, ok. Uh... I should probably get going."
He turned toward the door but fumbled the folder he'd been carrying, sending papers scattering across the floor.
"Oh!" Chloe exclaimed.
All three knelt down to gather the spilled contents. Justin's bandaged hands made him clumsy as he tried to collect the pages. Tyson picked up a sheet from the Metropolis Inquisitor, the headline catching his attention.
'Going down! Doctor loses hands in freak accident.'
Justin quickly snatched the page from Tyson's grip. "Thank you."
He hurried out of the office, leaving Chloe glaring at Tyson.
"Sorry about that," Tyson said with a light-hearted grin, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Didn't mean to crash the party."
"Tyson!" Chloe's voice carried clear irritation. "You completely interrupted us. We were having a really good conversation."
Tyson laughed it off. "Hey, I wasn't trying to cockblock or anything."
Chloe slapped his arm. "It isn't like that!" But her cheeks flushed slightly. "I mean, I do like Justin. He's sweet, and he's been through so much, and you just barged in here like—"
"Whoa, hold up." Tyson's expression grew more serious. "Chloe, I'm not trying to rain on your parade, but did you see that newspaper article I picked up?"
"What about it?"
"It was about a doctor losing his hands in a freak accident. And Justin just told us he was in the hospital and doesn't remember much about his accident." Tyson moved to the computer. "Coincidence, or wall of weird material in the making. Don't you think that's worth checking out?"
Chloe hesitated, then joined him at the desk. "You think they're connected?"
"I think you're the one who usually follows these leads." Tyson pulled up the Metropolis Inquisitor website. "Let's see what we can find about this doctor."
The search results populated quickly. Chloe read over his shoulder as he clicked on the article. The story detailed a surgeon who'd lost both hands in what witnesses described as a freak elevator accident.
"That's horrible," Chloe whispered.
"Yeah, but look at the date." Tyson pointed to the timestamp. "This happened yesterday. Right around the time Justin would have left the hospital if he arrived in Smallville today."
Chloe frowned, her journalistic instincts warring with her personal feelings. "That could be a coincidence."
"Could be." Tyson scrolled down. "But you saw how he grabbed that paper from me. And those bandages on his hands..."
Chloe's jaw tightened as she stared at the screen. "You're being ridiculous, Tyson. We've been emailing back and forth for six months. I know him better than I know you." She turned to face him fully, her voice rising. "Justin and I have shared everything through those emails. His recovery, his art, his dreams about getting back to drawing. He's been nothing but honest with me about his struggles, and now you waltz in here after knowing him for five minutes and decide he's some kind of threat?"
Tyson held up his hands. "I'm not saying he's a threat. I'm just saying the timing is weird. You know I'm just trying to look out for you, right?"
Chloe's expression softened slightly, but her stance remained defensive. Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen. "It's Sean, again."
"Put him on speaker," Tyson said, suspicion plain in his voice.
"No," Chloe replied, her finger hovering over the answer button.
"Come on, trust me."
Chloe sighed, relenting. "Fine." She answered and tapped the speaker button. "Hello?"
"Hey, Chloe."
"Sean, hi," she responded, keeping her tone casual.
"Don't I owe you a phone call? Sorry about earlier, I wasn't feeling well."
Tyson shook his head vigorously, mouthing "lying" to Chloe.
"What about Jenna?"
"I promise it's completely over with her. I want to see you. Talk a bit."
Tyson shook his head again, more emphatically. He pointed to the room, indicating the Torch office.
Chloe caught on. "I'm stuck finishing up an article in the Torch. You can come by here if you want, bring me coffee."
"Alright, I'll be by soon," Sean replied.
Chloe ended the call and looked at Tyson. "What was that about?"
"I don't trust him at all. Do you mind if I stick around? He gives off the vibes of a guy who thinks consent is optional."
Chloe rolled her eyes. "I didn't get that sense. He may be a little intellectually challenged, but he's hot. Besides, he said he just wanted to talk."
"That's what we all say," Tyson muttered.
Chloe laughed that Tyson said 'we', not 'they'. "It's a fact-finding mission to see if he deserves a date."
After about twenty minutes, her phone chimed with a text.
She read it and frowned. "Sean wants me to meet him at the pool."
"That's a red flag."
Chloe bit her lip, uncertainty creeping in. She looked at Tyson, then back at her phone. "I'm gonna go, but stay close, okay?"
"Sure thing." But this whole situation stunk of a Meteor Freakout.
The Smallville High pool area was shrouded in darkness, the only illumination seeping through the opaque windows from the exterior exit. The chlorine scent hung heavy in the air. "Sean?" she called out. "What's going on? I agreed to a cappuccino. If you think I'm skinny-dipping with you, try again, buddy."
The silence that followed was broken only by the gentle lapping of water against the pool's edge. Then a figure emerged from the shadows, and Chloe gasped. Sean stood before her, but he was far from the vibrant teenager she remembered. His skin had taken on a sickly blue hue, devoid of the warmth of life.
"I'm sorry, Chloe," Sean's voice was hollow, tinged with desperation. "I don't have a choice."
Chloe took a step back. "What happened to you?"
"I can't stay warm."
"Why don't you just sit by a fire?" Fear climbed into her voice as she said it.
Sean shook his head. "Because I only get a quick fix. Body heat lasts longer." He took a step toward her. "I promise it won't hurt, Chloe."
Panic seized her chest. "Tyson!" she screamed.
Sean lunged. Chloe dodged his grasp, but the sudden movement threw her off balance. Her feet went out from under her on the slick tile, and she hit the water with a splash. The shock of it stunned her for a moment before survival instinct kicked in. She surfaced and cried out, "Tyson! Tyson, help!"
Chloe swam frantically to the opposite side. She reached the edge and began hauling herself out, fingers grasping the rough concrete. Just as she got most of the way clear, an unnatural chill swept through the water. Over her shoulder, ice crystals were spreading from where Sean's hand touched the surface, racing toward her. She yanked at her foot. Too late. The ice had solidified around her ankle, trapping her.
The sound of splintering wood followed Tyson's kick against the door Sean had locked behind her. He burst into the room and took in the situation in approximately one second. Chloe half out of the pool, one leg trapped to the ankle in ice, her hair plastered flat, her face working very hard and failing at not panicking. The ice spreading across the pool's surface. Sean standing there blue-tinged. The absolute wrongness of the air temperature in a room that should have been chlorine-warm.
"Scarecrow? You trying to cockblock?"
"Looks like your blue balls have spread across your whole body." he quipped back.
Enraged, Sean charged. Tyson's foot connected solidly with his chest, sending him flying across the room. Without missing a beat, Tyson rushed to Chloe's side.
"You okay?" he asked.
Chloe nodded, teeth chattering. "Yeah."
He drew back his fist and slammed it into the ice around her ankle. The frozen surface shattered, freeing her. He pulled her to her feet and got one quick look at her face. She was wet and shaking, and her jaw was set in a way that meant she was just as angry as she was scared, which was exactly the correct Chloe Sullivan response to being lured into a pool by a Meteor Freak under the pretense of a date. Under other circumstances, he might have made a joke about it. Instead, he squeezed her arm once, firm and brief, and turned back toward Sean.
Sean had recovered and was advancing on them both. "Two for one," he growled.
"He's a Meteor Freak," Chloe warned. "He froze the pool with a touch."
Tyson's face remained calm. "Don't worry."
"What do you mean don't worry? If he touches you, you're dead!"
Sean's lips curled into a smile. "That's right, scarecrow. You're dead."
Tyson stood his ground and smiled back. "You want some heat, Sean? Let's turn it up in here."
"Now isn't the time to banter—" Her words cut off as Tyson raised his arms and the air around them began to shimmer. The ice covering the pool's surface cracked and melted. Then the entire pool erupted into flames, fire floating atop the water and casting fierce orange light throughout the room. The heat pushed back against Sean's icy aura.
Chloe watched Tyson's silhouette frame itself against the burning pool and understood that there was far more to her new friend than she had ever imagined.
Steam rose where the flames met the remaining ice, filling the air with thick mist that swirled around them. Tyson took a step forward, the fire seeming to move with him. "What's the matter, Sean? Too hot for you?"
Sean backed away, his eyes darting for an escape route. "How... how are you doing this?" he stammered.
"Let's just say you're not the only one with special abilities. Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice."
But Sean recovered as he watched the flames dance across the water's surface, and something shifted in his expression. This was exactly what he'd been looking for. He inhaled deeply, drawing the fire into himself. The flames disappeared from the pool, leaving only wisps of steam rising from the water. As the heat entered Sean's body, the sickly blue hue faded, and color returned to his cheeks. He flexed his fingers, relishing the warmth coursing through him, and turned to face Tyson with a wicked grin.
"Dumb move, Scarecrow," he taunted, voice strong and clear now. "I need that heat. Now I'm going to take you and that fire." He beckoned. "Get over here."
Tyson began walking toward Sean at an unhurried pace. No hesitation, no fear. Chloe, still dripping, watched in horror.
"Tyson, don't do it!" she called out. "That's exactly what he wants!"
Tyson didn't acknowledge her. As soon as he was within reach, Sean lunged, his hand shooting out to grasp Tyson's throat, preparing to drain him. But he caught Sean's wrist. They stood locked together. Sean's brow furrowed as he began drawing the heat from Tyson's body.
The fire inside Tyson pulled away, a chill creeping through his veins. But he didn't resist. He focused, calling upon something else. Electricity crackled around his hand where it gripped Sean's wrist.
Sean's body went rigid, muscles locking up as the current surged through him. His eyes widened in shock and pain, unable to break free. As the electricity flowed, Tyson reached further. He drew back , the electricity followed, flowing back into him. But he didn't stop there. As he pulled, he felt Sean's ice power coming with it, drawn inexorably into his being.
Sean's face contorted in agony as he felt his powers stripped away. The warmth he'd so recently gained fled his body, leaving him cold. But this was different from before. He wasn't just cold. He was empty.
Both boys stumbled backward as the connection broke. Sean collapsed to his knees, gasping. Tyson staggered but stayed on his feet, his body trembling as it adjusted to the influx.
Chloe had watched the whole thing with a mixture of awe and terror. "Tyson?" she called out, taking a cautious step toward him. "Are you... Are you okay?"
Tyson turned to face her. His eyes seemed to flicker with inner light, shifting between the warm glow of fire, the crackling energy of electricity, and the cool gleam of ice. He looked at his hands, flexing his fingers.
"I'm good."
Sean, still on his knees, looked up at him. "What... what did you do to me?" His voice was weak. "I feel... normal."
"I took care of your heat problem."
Sean understood the full extent of what had happened and began to sob quietly. The loss of his powers, as destructive as they had been, left him hollow. He curled in on himself, shivering not from cold but from shock and the understanding of what he'd done.
Chloe stepped closer to Tyson. "We need to get out of here," she said urgently. "Someone must have heard all this. We can't be here when they come to investigate."
"You're right. We should probably call the cops, too. Let them know he tried to assault you. Who knows what he did to Jenna." They began to leave, sparing Sean one last look. He was still huddled on the floor.