The next morning, Jeremy didn't meet the silver sedan with a snarl or a show of force. Instead, he stood on the curb of his new apartment building looking exactly like what Lex Luthor expected: a boy drowning in a world that had outpaced him.
He kept his posture slumped, his eyes slightly wide and darting, mimicking the hyper-vigilance of a trauma survivor. In his right pocket, his fingers were white-knuckled around the jagged edges of the green meteor rock he'd scavenged from the junkyard. The stone was his anchor. Without it, the "Static" in his blood felt like a jagged blade; with it, the energy smoothed out into a low, manageable thrum.
Dominic was leaning against the driver's side door of the sedan. His eyes traveled over Jeremy with a clinical coldness, lingering on the boy's pale face and the slight tremor Jeremy was intentionally allowing in his hands.
"You look like you didn't sleep, Jeremy," Dominic said, his voice a low, sandpaper rasp.
Jeremy blinked slowly, looking at the cracked headlight of the car—the damage he had caused the night before. "I... I went for a walk. I got lost. Everything looks so different at night." He wiped a hand over his face, playing the part of the confused orphan to perfection. "There was a loud noise. A transformer blew. I think I just ran until I found my way back."
Dominic's gaze narrowed. He walked a slow circle around the boy, his presence heavy and suffocating. "A transformer blew exactly where you were seen entering an alleyway. A localized EMP fried the computer in this car. Do you have any idea how rare that is?"
Jeremy looked up, his expression a masterpiece of vacant fear. "I don't know what an EMP is. I just know the lights went out and I was scared. Is Mr. Luthor mad about the car?"
For a long moment, Dominic said nothing. He was looking for a tell—a smirk, a spark, anything that suggested the "miracle boy" was more than a victim. But Jeremy held his gaze with watery, uncertain eyes, his thumb rhythmically stroking the meteor rock in his pocket to keep his internal "Static" from leaking out.
"Get in," Dominic finally muttered, gesturing to the back seat. "Mr. Luthor isn't mad. He's... curious. Try not to break anything else today."
…
The drive to Smallville High was conducted in a silence so thick it felt like physical pressure. Jeremy stared out the window, watching the familiar cornfields blur into the modern landscape of 2001. He could feel the car's electrical system humming beneath the floorboards—the alternator spinning, the radio signals bouncing off the antenna—but he kept his hands folded tightly in his lap. He didn't let a single spark jump. He was a black hole, absorbing everything and emitting nothing.
When the sedan pulled into the school's circular drive, the spectacle was unavoidable. The "Boy Who Woke Up" arriving in a LuthorCorp-funded vehicle was the kind of gasoline-on-fire gossip that Smallville High lived for.
Jeremy stepped out, keeping his head down, clutching his backpack straps like a shield. He felt the eyes of the student body on him—the whispers, the pointing, the laughter of the jocks near the gym entrance.
"Jeremy! Over here!"
He looked up to see Chloe Sullivan waving him down, her blonde hair catching the morning sun. Beside her stood Pete Ross and the towering, quiet presence of Clark Kent.
As Jeremy approached, he felt the meteor rock in his pocket pulse with a sudden, sharp intensity. It wasn't hurting him, but as he got within five feet of Clark, the farm boy's face suddenly went pale. Clark staggered back a half-step, his hand going to the hood of his truck for support, his brow furrowing in visible discomfort.
"Clark? You okay?" Pete asked, reaching out to steady him.
"Yeah... I just... got a sudden headache," Clark muttered, his eyes darting to Jeremy's pocket. There was a look of confusion in Clark's gaze—a realization that the "sick" feeling he usually got from the green rocks was coming from the new kid.
Jeremy immediately took a step back, playing up the "socially awkward" angle. "Sorry. I... I should go. I don't want to be late for homeroom."
"Wait, Jeremy," Chloe said, stepping between them, her reporter's instincts already flaring. "We were going to show you around. You've missed twelve years of curriculum. You probably don't even know what a graphing calculator is."
"I'll figure it out," Jeremy said softly, his eyes meeting Clark's for a fleeting second.
In that moment, Jeremy saw it: Clark wasn't just sick; he was suspicious. Clark knew about the rocks. He didn't know Jeremy had powers, but he knew Jeremy was carrying something "wrong."
Jeremy turned and hurried into the school building, his heart racing. He had to be more careful. If he wanted to stay under Lex's radar, he couldn't walk around with a piece of radioactive space rock in his pocket while standing next to the town's resident alien.
…
The afternoon was a blur of locker combinations and confusing textbooks, but the real trouble started after the final bell. Jeremy was at his locker after gym class, trying to organize his thoughts, when a shadow fell over him.
Whitney Fordman, the star quarterback, stood there with three other jocks. They were the spitting images of the boys who had tied Jeremy to that cross in '89.
"So, the legend returns," Whitney said, his voice dripping with a forced, predatory friendliness. "You know, Creek, my dad told me stories about you. The 'Scarecrow' who never came down. Since it's Homecoming week, we thought it would be a nice tradition to bring the original back to the field tonight. For old times' sake."
Jeremy didn't flinch. He didn't let a single arc of blue light show. He just looked up at Whitney with a small, trembling smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"I've spent twelve years on my back, Whitney," Jeremy said quietly, his hand gripping the meteor rock in his pocket. "I don't think I'm in the mood for any more traditions."
"That wasn't a request, freak," one of the other jocks sneered, stepping closer.
Jeremy felt the "Static" in his blood roar. The rock in his pocket was the only thing keeping him from vaporizing the locker door. He knew Lex's cameras were watching. He knew Dominic was likely parked in the lot.
If I fight them here, I'm a target. If I let them take me, I'm a victim.