Meteor Freak
Episode 13: Facade
Date: Thursday, September 15, 2011.
Location: Tyson's Apartment, Talon Theater, Smallville, Kansas
Tyson shifted his weight, angling his body to keep Lana behind him. The movement was subtle; a half-step left, but it put him directly in Jason's line of fire.
Jason's knuckles whitened around the Colt's grip. Not just any gun, but the Colt, if his increasingly unhinged ranting over the past ten minutes was to be believed. A legendary weapon, supposedly mystical, capable of killing anything regardless of powers or protections. Tyson had dismissed it as paranoid fantasy when Jason first started talking. Now, staring down the barrel, he wasn't so sure. Jason believed it absolutely. And if there was any truth to the mythology, then Tyson was one trigger pull away from discovering that all his powers meant nothing against the right tool.
The apartment smelled like the burger Lana had been cooking; garlic powder, cheese, salt and pepper. Ordinary things. Domestic. Completely at odds with the man pointing a gun at his chest. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. The hardwood floor creaked under his weight as he shifted. Somewhere outside, a car drove past, music playing, completely unaware that someone might die in this second-floor apartment.
"Don't move."
"I'm not." Tyson raised his hands slowly, palms out. His mind raced through the catalog of abilities he'd absorbed over the past weeks. Jeremy Creek's electricity. Greg Arkin's insect powers. Coach Walt's fire manipulation. Cyrus Krupp's healing touch. Desiree Atkins's pheromones. Tina Greer's shapeshifting.
The bug powers were useless. Enhanced strength and speed wouldn't help him cross ten feet before Jason squeezed the trigger. Healing only worked on others. The pheromones had never worked on men when he'd tried before.
That left electricity and fire. Jeremy's power let him channel electrical current, but he couldn't shoot lightning bolts from his hands. He needed a conductor. The apartment's hardwood floors would work, but wood's resistance was thousands of times higher than metal. The current would propagate slower, maybe half a second to cross ten feet. Half a second where Jason could complete the trigger pull. If Lana shifted position, if her feet touched where the current traveled, he could shock her too.
Coach Walt's fire manipulation offered a different vector. Tyson couldn't throw fireballs, but he could manifest flames on surfaces he saw. Clothes, skin, the floor beneath Jason's feet. Fire was immediate, no propagation delay like electricity, but it had its own problems. Pain reaction was unpredictable. Jason might reflexively pull the trigger, might drop the gun, might do nothing at all. A shoulder burn would affect his aim without directly threatening his trigger finger. The left shoulder, supporting his aim, would be optimal.
Neither option was reliable alone. Combined, using both simultaneously to create overlapping interference in Jason's ability to shoot accurately... Still not certain. Still a chance he died in the next few seconds. But those were the best odds he was going to get.
"Jason, please." Lana's voice cracked behind him. "Put the gun down."
"He's controlling you, Lana. Can't you see that?"
"He's not!" Lana tried to step around Tyson's shoulder to shield him.
"Stay back." Tyson caught her wrist gently, guiding her behind him again. His heart hammered against his ribs.
Jason's jaw clenched, something desperate flickering behind his eyes. "Last chance, kid. Step away from her. Lana's special. She's good. And I'm not letting you destroy that."
Tyson relented. "Alright."
He'd never used these two powers simultaneously before. Electricity required maintaining a current flow, constant attention to the channel between his body and the target. Fire required visualization of the ignition point. Splitting his attention between both could cause either or both to fail. Half-power electricity might not disrupt Jason's motor control. Half-focused fire might manifest as nothing more than uncomfortable warmth. But half-measures would get him killed. Even disrupting his aim might be enough not avoid a lethal shot at this range.
As Tyson stepped away, Jason tracked him. His finger tightened toward the trigger, and Tyson activated both powers simultaneously. Blue-white electricity crackled to life across his skin, racing down his legs into the hardwood floor. The current spread outward in a web of sparking energy. At the same moment, he focused on Jason's left shoulder and willed fire into existence.
Flames erupted across Jason's shirt. The smell of burning cotton filled the apartment. The electricity reached Jason's feet a heartbeat later. The current arced up through his shoes, and his entire body went rigid. The Colt trembled in his grip, but it was too late; he'd already pulled the trigger.
The bullet spat from the Colt.
The shot, intended for Tyson's heart, was off target. But it still struck him in the chest, close to his shoulder. The impact spun him around and he fell back into the wall. Red spread across the wall behind him as he slid to the floor, leaving a smear of blood. Pain exploded through his chest, white-hot and all-consuming. He'd been beaten by Whitney and the linemen, shocked by Jeremy Creek, burned by Coach Walt, beaten by Eric with Clark's power, but this was different. This was a hole punched through him. The bullet had entered below his left collarbone, probably clipped an artery based on the amount of blood spreading. Each beat sent a fresh wave of agony radiating through his shoulder.
His vision narrowed, the edges going gray and fuzzy. The bedroom ceiling above him blurred into soft focus. He tried to move his left arm and couldn't; the muscles weren't responding. His right hand pressed against the wound reflexively, fingers coming away slick and red. The pressure sent fresh spikes of agony through his shoulder. The taste of copper filled his mouth. His thoughts felt sluggish, like wading through mud. Important details slipped away before he could focus on them. He did remember to cut off his electricity, and he reached out for any remaining fire and snuffed it out. The edges of his vision were going gray. He tried to focus on Lana's face hovering above him, her expression twisted with fear, but she kept blurring.
"Tyson!" she dropped to her knees beside him, her hands hovering over the wound.
Her hands were shaking. Blood. There was so much blood.
The metallic smell hit her, sharp and wrong, making her stomach lurch. She'd never smelled blood like this before. In movies, when people were shot it looked fake, theatrical. This was real, the color too dark, the consistency too thick. His face was quickly paling, and his eyes weren't focusing properly. When she pressed her hands against the wound… God, she could feel the hole in his shoulder, and the slickness of blood and the heat of his body. He made a sound that wasn't quite a scream but spoke of agony he was trying to suppress.
"I'm okay." His voice was weaker and thready.
He wasn't okay.
She could see him dying, feel his pulse weakening beneath her palms as she tried desperately to slow the bleeding. The towel she grabbed turned red so fast it was useless, the white fabric saturated in seconds. She pressed harder, trying to remember first aid from some half-forgotten health class, but the blood kept coming, kept soaking through, kept spreading.
This couldn't be happening. An hour ago they'd been making love, talking about their relationship, and now he was bleeding out on the floor.
She looked back at Jason, who was on the ground unconscious. Lana had no idea how Tyson had done it, but it didn't matter right now. "That gun. Jason said it could kill anything, but it can't kill you... right?"
"Hate to say it, but I don't think I'm on the list of things that are immune."
She looked down at the towel, at the amount of blood seeping through despite the pressure she applied. "Can you heal yourself?"
Tyson shook his head. The movement made the room tilt. "Only others."
"Then—" Lana's hands trembled. "Can you shed your skin? Like you did in the shower?"
"The bullet's too deep. If it hit me in the arm, maybe I could've sacrificed the arm. But it's lodged in my torso."
His heartbeat was slowing, his body trying to conserve what blood remained. The pain was fading too, which should have been a relief, or terrified him, but he felt neither. "I just need to rest…"
Lana shook him. "Stay with me. Tyson, stay with me!"
He forced his eyes to focus on her face.
"If you can take powers," Lana said, speaking quickly, "can you give them? Give me the healing, and I'll heal you."
Tyson's mind struggled to process the suggestion. Transfer a power? He could do that.
"Your necklace," he managed.
Lana's hand flew to her throat. She yanked the meteor rock pendant over her head, breaking the clasp in her haste. The green stone swung from its chain as she pressed it into Tyson's palm. His fingers closed around it automatically. Placing his free hand on Lana's wrist, he closed his eyes and reached for Jeremy's power, letting the electricity build in his chest. Blue-white current crackled to life, flowing down his arm into the meteor rock.
The stone began to glow. He visualized Cyrus's healing ability; that warm, golden energy. Instead of pulling, Tyson pushed, trying to reverse the flow, to send it through the meteor rock and into Lana.
The electricity formed a bridge between them, arcing from his hand through the glowing green stone into Lana's skin. She gasped, her back arching. The healing energy followed the electrical current, golden light mixing with blue-white sparks. He felt the power leaving him. It was like watching water drain from a bathtub, a steady flow of warmth and light pouring out of his chest and into Lana. The green aura surrounding Lana's body intensified, starting at her wrist and flowing up her arm, across her shoulders, down her torso.
Her eyes widened. "I can feel it. Tyson, I can feel—"
The transfer completed with a final surge of electricity. The meteor rock went dark. Tyson's hand fell away from Lana's wrist, too heavy to hold up anymore.
The darkness was closing in too fast.
Tyson's eyes slid shut. Lana's voice calling his name grew distant, muffled, like he was underwater and sinking deeper. The pain faded completely. The warmth faded too.
Everything faded to black.
— Meteor Freak —
The stone began to glow, pulsing with an eerie green light. Lana felt the electricity first as a tingle where his fingers touched her wrist.
Then the power hit her.
It flooded into her system like liquid fire, not painful but overwhelming, too much sensation too fast. Her nerve endings lit up all at once. She gasped, her back arching involuntarily as the healing ability rooted itself somewhere deep in her chest. Patient and ready, waiting for her to use it. Instinct guided her hands, pressing them against Tyson's wound. The healing power responded immediately, flowing out of her palms like water from a faucet she'd just learned to turn on. Warmth spread through her fingers into his torn flesh.
She watched it happen beneath her hands, mesmerized and horrified. This was power. Real, genuine, supernatural power flowing through her body, responding to her will. She was healing him. She was saving his life.
Tyson's body jerked.
Lana held firm, leaning her weight into her hands to keep them pressed against his shoulder. The healing energy flowed like water from a broken dam, pouring out of her. She pushed harder, willing more of the golden light into him.
The wound began to change. The bullet, lodged against bone, moved. It rose through layers of tissue, pushed by regenerating muscle and bone. Blood welled up around it, fresh and bright red, spilling over Lana's fingers. The metal broke through the surface of Tyson's skin, expelled by his body like a splinter. The bullet hit the floor with a wet clink, landing in the puddle of blood that had spread across the hardwood.
Lana didn't stop. The wound was still open, still bleeding. She poured more energy into it. The muscle sealed first, then the layers of tissue above it, finally the skin itself. The golden light grew brighter, almost blinding, as the last traces of the injury disappeared.
Tyson's chest expanded with a sudden, gasping breath.
His eyes flew open, wide and unfocused. He stared at the ceiling, his mouth working soundlessly as air rushed into his lungs. His hands scrabbled against the floor, fingers slipping in his own blood.
"Don't move!" Lana kept her hands on his chest, though the golden glow was already fading. "Just breathe. You're okay, just breathe."
Tyson's gaze found hers. Recognition flickered across his face, followed by confusion. He looked down at her blood-covered hands, at the spreading pool of red beneath him.
"Lana?" His voice was rough, barely above a whisper. "What—"
"You were shot." The words tumbled out. "The bullet went through your shoulder, and you passed out, and I thought you were dying but the power worked, it actually worked—"
Tyson reached up with a shaking hand and touched his shoulder. His fingers probed the area where the wound had been, finding only smooth, unbroken skin beneath the fabric. He pressed harder, testing, and winced.
"It's tender," he said.
"You were shot two minutes ago. I think tender is pretty good."
Tyson sat up slowly, one hand braced against the floor. He looked past Lana to where Jason lay unconscious near the door, the Colt still clutched in his hand. The smell of burned fabric hung in the air, mixing with the copper scent of his blood.
"How long was I out?"
"Not long. Maybe thirty seconds?"
Tyson's gaze dropped to the bullet on the floor, still wet with his blood. He picked it up carefully, turning it between his fingers.
"This could have killed me," he said quietly.
"But it didn't." Lana grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her instead of the bullet. "You're alive. You're okay."
He nodded once, then pulled her into a tight embrace.
Lana wrapped her arms around him, feeling his heartbeat strong and steady against her chest. The reality of what just happened crashed over her. The gun, the blood, the golden light pouring from her palms. She'd saved his life. For a long moment neither of them moved. She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and her hands were shaking with residual adrenaline.
"Hey." Tyson's arms tightened around her. "I'm okay. We're okay."
But she wasn't okay. Nothing about this was okay. She'd healed a bullet wound with her bare hands. What was she?
Tyson reached up and covered her hands with his, his fingers warm and alive. "Thanks to you." His voice was rough, still weak from blood loss even though the wound had closed. "You saved my life."
She let out a breath that was halfway to a sob, the terror of the last few minutes finally catching up with her. She'd watched him get shot. Watched him bleeding out on the floor. Thought he was going to die right there in front of her. Lana pulled back just enough to look at him. His skin was whole. Unmarked. Like the bullet had never torn through his shoulder at all. Tyson pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her despite the blood and the mess, and Jason still unconscious on the floor three feet away. She buried her face against his neck, feeling his pulse against her cheek, and allowed herself one moment to just shake and breathe and be grateful he was alive.
"Thank you." Tyson cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away tears she hadn't realized were falling. "Lana, thank you."
The sincerity in his voice broke something inside her.
All the fear, all the adrenaline, all the impossible weight of what she'd just done dissolved. She melted into him, her body going soft against his chest. His arms wrapped around her again, holding her close, and she felt safe for the first time since Jason had kicked in the door.
Tyson tilted her chin up.
Lana kissed him.
It wasn't gentle or tentative. She pressed her mouth to his with desperate need, pouring everything she couldn't say into the contact. He kissed her back immediately, one hand sliding into her hair while the other splayed across her lower back, pulling her closer.
The taste of copper lingered between them, blood, this time hers, from where she'd bitten her lip. She didn't care. All that mattered was his mouth on hers, his heart beating against her chest, the solid warmth of him proving he was alive.
Tyson's fingers tangled in her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss. Lana made a small sound in the back of her throat, remembering how close she'd come to losing him.
She kissed him harder.
His hand slid from her hair to her jaw, thumb stroking her cheekbone as he gentled the kiss. Slowing it down. Making it softer, sweeter, until Lana's racing heart began to calm.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Tyson rested his forehead against hers.
Tyson pulled back from Lana, his gaze shifting past her shoulder to where Jason lay sprawled near the door. The coach's chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, his hand still loosely gripping the Colt.
"He's still out," Tyson said. Lana glanced back at Jason, then returned her attention to Tyson. "How does it feel to be super?" he asked with a playful edge to his voice despite everything that had just happened.
Lana blinked, then felt a smile forming as a laugh bubbled up, light and unexpected. "It feels good."
The admission surprised her. But it was true. The golden light, the power flowing through her hands, the knowledge that she'd saved him, it had felt incredible. Terrifying, yes, but also right in a way she couldn't quite explain.
Tyson's expression shifted, becoming more serious. "Want one permanently?"
"You'll let me keep the healing?"
"Not the healing." Tyson shook his head. "You need something to help you survive, since you seem to be targeted as often, if not more than I am." He hesitated before finishing, "You already had a power."
Lana stared at him. "What?"
"You have the same aura that I see around all meteor freaks, yours is just fainter. I couldn't figure out why."
She'd had a power this whole time? "I swear, I didn't know and never noticed."
"I figured. I don't know what it does either." He paused, then added with a wry smile, "Maybe it just makes you a trouble magnet."
"Ha ha," Lana said dryly. But he might not be wrong. The thought settled in her mind with uncomfortable clarity. First, the meteor shower when she was three that killed her parents. Then Greg, who tried to take her as his mate, Tina pretending to be her, and now Jason breaking into the apartment with a magic gun. Even attracting Tyson himself.
She was undoubtedly a magnet for trouble.
"The necklace," she whispered, looking down at the green stone. If meteor rock exposure gave people powers, why wouldn't she have one? "I've been wearing a meteor rock since I was little."
"Right. Constant low-level exposure over the years. The question is what kind of power develops from that. Either way, I was thinking of taking whatever you have, since it's not doing anything noticeable, and if it is bad luck with Meteor Freaks, better I have it than you. And I could give you Tina's power," Tyson continued.
Lana stiffened as images flashed through her mind of Tina's face morphing into hers, Tina kissing Tyson while wearing her body, the violation of having someone steal her identity.
"It's great for blending in or flying under the radar," Tyson said. "I haven't used it really. But there's a certain irony that the power that almost killed you could become your power."
Lana considered this.
The shapeshifting ability itself wasn't evil. Tina had used it for terrible things, but the power was just a tool. And Tyson was right about the irony. Taking something that had been used against her and making it her own; there was a kind of poetic justice in that. She smiled. "It would be ironic."
Tyson returned her smile, then carefully extricated himself from their embrace. He stood, offering her his hand. Lana took it, letting him pull her to her feet. Her legs felt shaky, the exhaustion from healing him catching up with her.
"I need to get the healing power back first. I'll take your power with it." Tyson said. "Then I can transfer the shapeshifting to you."
Lana nodded, though she wasn't entirely sure how any of this worked.
"This may hurt," Tyson warned. "But I'll do it as gently as I can."
"I know how gentle you can be."
He laughed, and with a wink, electricity crackled across his skin. Blue-white arcs of lightning danced along his arms, jumping from fingertip to fingertip. The air filled with the sharp scent of ozone.
Tyson pressed the meteor rock against his chest with one hand and held Lana's with his other.
The electricity intensified, forming a circuit between his body and the stone. The green glow of the kryptonite mixed with the blue lightning, creating an eerie turquoise light. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the electricity vanished. Tyson lowered the meteor rock. He opened his hand, and golden light bloomed across his palm. The same warm, pulsing glow that had poured from Lana's hands minutes ago.
"Got it," he said. "And done."
She'd hardly felt a thing.
He held out the necklace to Lana. She took it automatically, her fingers closing around the familiar weight of the stone. She'd worn this necklace every day for fourteen years. It was part of her, a connection to her parents, to that terrible night when the meteors fell.
"Think about Tina," Tyson instructed. "About her power. About what it felt like when she looked like you."
Lana closed her eyes, forcing herself to remember. Tina's face shifting, bones restructuring beneath the skin. The perfect mimicry of Lana's features, her voice, her mannerisms. The way Tina had moved in her body like it was her own.
Heat spread up Lana's arm, not painful but intense. The sensation concentrated in her chest, right behind her sternum, building and building until she thought she might burst. Then something clicked into place. It felt like a door opening in her mind, revealing a room that had always been there but she'd never noticed. Instinctive, immediate understanding of how to reshape her body. How to shift bone, muscle, and skin. How to become someone else.
Lana opened her eyes, staring down at her hands. They looked the same as always, but they felt different. Like they were waiting for her to tell them what to be.
"Try it," Tyson said softly.
Lana thought about Aunt Nell. About her aunt's kind face, her warm brown eyes, the way laugh lines crinkled at the corners of her mouth. She pictured Nell's hands, slightly larger than her own, with short practical nails.
Her hands began to change.
The bones lengthened, knuckles shifting position. Her fingers grew thicker. Skin tone adjusted, becoming slightly more tan. The transformation happened in seconds, painless and smooth.
Lana stared down at Aunt Nell's hands.
"Oh my god," she whispered.
She looked up at Tyson, and his eyes widened. Lana felt her face changing, too. She could feel her nose reshaping, cheekbones adjusting, jawline softening. Even her hair was different; she could feel the weight of it shifting as it grew longer, the texture changing from straight to wavy.
"It worked," Tyson said.
Lana released the image of Aunt Nell from her mind.
Her body snapped back to normal like a rubber band released. Bones shortened, features rearranged, hair returned to its usual length and texture. Within seconds, she was herself again.
She laughed, the sound high and slightly hysterical. "I can't believe that just worked."
"You're one of us now. Congrats on becoming Smallville's newest Meteor Freak."
Lana's smile faltered slightly at the term, but she didn't protest. She was one of them now.
Tyson's attention shifted to Jason, still unconscious near the door. He walked over and picked up the Colt, the pentagram etched into the barrel catching his eye.
Jason had said it could kill anything.
The gun had certainly lived up to its reputation. The bullet had torn through Tyson's shoulder like he was made of paper, no different from any normal human. If Lana hadn't been there, if she hadn't used his healing powers, he'd be dead.
But as Tyson held the weapon, turning it over in his hands, his mind went elsewhere.
He was in a version of the DC universe. Superman, Clark, was real, walking around Smallville High in flannel and jeans, pretending to be a normal farm boy. Kara was real, somewhere in Metropolis right now, hopefully causing Lionel Luthor headaches.
This gun could kill them.
The thought sent a chill down his spine. Clark, invulnerable to most things short of kryptonite and magic, could be put down with a single bullet from this weapon. Kara too. All their power, all their potential, ended with a piece of enchanted metal fired from a 19th-century revolver.
That made the Colt dangerous.
But what about their enemies?
Would he or Clark eventually encounter Darkseid? The thought alone was terrifying. Or god forbid, Doomsday? The creature that had killed Superman in the comics, that had torn through the Justice League like tissue paper?
Could the Colt kill Doomsday permanently?
And what else was out there? What kind of threats existed in this world that Jason Teague, a football coach from Metropolis, needed this kind of weapon? What had he been hunting before he came to Smallville?
Tyson guessed there was only one way to find out.
He approached Jason, the Colt still in his hand.
"Are you going to kill him?" Lana asked, her voice low.
Tyson looked at her like she was crazy. "What? No. Why would I kill him?"
"He just tried to kill you," Lana said tentatively.
Tyson waved it off. "Nearly succeeded too, but it wasn't his fault. He drank some of that laced Gatorade, just like you. Instead of trying to fuck me, he tried to fucking kill me."
"That's not funny," Lana exclaimed.
"Kinda funny," Tyson said. She frowned. "Too soon?"
"Yeah, definitely too soon."
Tyson pulled her into his arms. Lana melted against him, and as she relaxed, her appearance flickered. Her features shifted, bones restructuring, before snapping back to normal.
"That's going to take some getting used to," Lana said.
"Yeah, it'd be totally weird if I made out with your Aunt," Tyson replied.
Lana slapped his chest lightly. "Don't get any ideas."
"Giving my maybe girlfriend the ability to shapeshift into other girls was totally not planned," Tyson said, his tone deliberately casual. "And I don't intend to reap the benefits of a superpower that would allow her to become another girl for my own satisfaction."
Lana shot back, "You gave your maybe girlfriend the ability to shapeshift into anyone… Including guys. Wow, Tyson, that's—"
"Ay yo!" Tyson interrupted. "Pause. Nah, more than pause. Stop right there, Diddy." He held out his hand. "Give me your hand, I'm taking that shit back right now."
Lana's smile faded. "You don't have to do that."
"Do what?"
"Make jokes. Deflect." Her eyes met his. "You almost died, Tyson. You went still, and I didn't feel you breathing. You may have actually died. It's okay to be scared. It's okay to not be okay."
Tyson's hand dropped. The mask slipped for just a moment, and something raw and frightened flickered across his face before he controlled it. "I know. I just—" He exhaled slowly. "Yeah. You're right."
The moment hung between them, intimate and uncomfortable.
"I'm kidding about the shapeshifting thing, promise," Lana said quietly. "I wouldn't do that to you."
"I know. Thank you. For... all of it." Tyson's voice was softer now, serious, but by the time he finished he was smiling. "And you better not."
The moment of levity faded as his gaze returned to Jason. The coach lay sprawled on his back, one arm flung out to the side, the other bent at an awkward angle beneath him. His breathing was steady but shallow, his face slack with unconsciousness.
"Now where was I?" Tyson said. "I'm going to wake him now."
Lana tensed beside him. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"We need answers." Tyson carefully passed the Colt to her. "And he's the only one who can give them to us."
"Wait!" Lana exclaimed. "Can we get dressed first."
— Meteor Freak —
Tyson raised his hand, golden light blooming across his palm. He pressed his glowing hand against Jason's forehead.
The effect was immediate.
Color returned to Jason's face. His breathing deepened, becoming stronger, more regular. The muscles in his jaw twitched, then his eyelids fluttered open.
"You're going to listen now," Tyson said quietly. "I didn't do anything to Lana. I didn't manipulate the football team. I'm not whatever you think I am."
"Your eyes..." Jason's voice came out hoarse. "They glowed. Blue light, just like the electricity."
Tyson blinked. He hadn't noticed, but it made sense. "The meteor rocks changed me. But I'm not controlling anyone. The cheerleaders are dosing people with kryptonite-laced Gatorade." He crouched down to Jason's eye level, staying out of arm's reach. "I'm going to stop it. I'm trying to help people, not hurt them."
Jason stared at Tyson's outstretched hand, his chest still heaving. His burned shoulder trembled beneath the scorched fabric of his shirt.
"The gun..." Jason's voice came out rough, strained.
"Is staying with Lana." Tyson glanced back at her. She stood behind the counter, both hands wrapped around the Colt's grip. "We're going to figure this out. But you don't get to shoot first and ask questions later."
"I was protecting her." Jason's good hand pressed against the hardwood floor, supporting his weight. Sweat beaded on his forehead. "My family... we've dealt with things like this before. Creatures that hide in human skin."
"I'm not a creature." Tyson kept his hand extended. "I'm just a guy who got infected by a meteor rock and came out different."
Jason looked at the offered hand. The fury had drained from his expression, replaced by something harder to read. Pain, maybe. Confusion. He didn't move to accept the help.
Tyson closed the distance between them. Jason tensed, his good hand moving instinctively toward where his gun should have been.
"Easy." Tyson knelt beside him. "I'm going to help."
"Don't—"
Golden light erupted from Tyson's palms before Jason could finish. The warm glow spread across Jason's burned shoulder, seeping into the blistered skin. Jason sucked in a sharp breath, his back going rigid against the doorframe. The burns began to recede. Angry red welts faded to pink, then healthy flesh. The blisters deflated and disappeared. New skin knitted itself together where the flames had eaten through, smooth and unmarked. Within seconds, Jason's shoulder looked like it had never been touched. Jason flexed his hand experimentally.
"See?" Tyson extinguished the light and sat back on his heels. "Not a monster."
Jason's jaw worked like he was chewing on words he didn't want to say. Finally, he looked up at Tyson. "That doesn't prove anything. Plenty of things can heal."
"I could've incinerated you the second you pulled that gun. I didn't. I stopped you without killing you, then I fixed what I did. That's not monster behavior." It was partly a bluff. Coach Walt had been able to set the entire Torch ablaze, but Tyson wasn't sure if he could ignite all of Jason's clothes at once. He'd been practicing his control, not his power.
Jason's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. "Fair point."
"Now." Tyson stood and offered his hand again. "What's really going on?"
This time, Jason took it. Tyson pulled him to his feet, and Jason brushed ash from his jeans. He looked at Lana, then back at Tyson, something calculating in his expression.
"You want the truth?" He paused, jaw working. "Real truth, not the cover story?" He looked at Lana first, then Tyson. "My name's not Jason Teague. It's Dean. Dean Winchester. Jason Teague's just a fake ID, one of about a dozen I've got stashed in my car. The coaching job, the whole 'met you in Paris' story, most of it's bullshit." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Well, not the Paris part. That happened. But I wasn't there sightseeing."
Lana set the Colt on the counter with a sharp click. "What?"
"Your tattoo." Dean nodded toward her lower back. "The one you got in Paris. But let me back up. Three weeks before I met you, a revenant started killing tourists near the catacombs. Vengeful spirit possessing corpses. Messy, violent deaths that the French police were calling a serial killer. I tracked it to the Latin Quarter, spent two nights staking out the catacombs entrance, waiting for it to manifest."
Tyson frowned. "A what?"
"Revenant. Basically, a pissed-off ghost hijacking dead bodies to settle scores with the living." Dean's expression darkened. "This one had been murdered during the French Revolution. Guillotined. Took me three days to identify which corpse it was riding, dig up the right bones from an old mass grave, and salt and burn them. Pain in my ass."
"You hunt monsters," Lana said, her voice flat.
"Ghosts, demons, vampires, werewolves, you name it." Dean shrugged. "Family business. My dad was a hunter. My mom died when I was four, and after that, it was just Dad, me, and my little brother Sam. Dad did most of the combat training, but we learned from everyone. Bobby Singer taught me mechanics and research. Pastor Jim covered exorcisms and holy water. Caleb showed me how to work a con and build a cover identity." He gestured at himself. "Jason Teague, all-American football coach, is just the latest in a long line of people I've pretended to be."
Tyson studied Dean's face, looking for signs of delusion or lies. He found neither. "And you think Lana's connected to something."
"Not think. Know." Dean's jaw tightened. "After I torched the revenant's bones, I was getting drunk at a café in Saint-Germain. Celebrating not dying. Sam wanted to visit the Louvre. " He looked at Lana. "When we walked past. Your shirt rode up when you were sketching, and I saw the mark on your lower back."
Lana's hand moved reflexively to her spine. "The tattoo."
"I recognized it immediately. Spent the next two hours chatting with you, trying to get a better look to confirm what I'd seen. Turned on the charm. Made you laugh. Got you to trust me enough to show me the tattoo properly when I asked about it."
"You used me." Lana's voice went cold.
"I investigated you," Dean corrected. "There's a difference. I needed to know if you understood what that mark meant. If someone had already gotten to you, told you about your bloodline. If you were actively searching for the stones or just an ignorant descendant living your life."
"And?"
"You had no idea. You thought it was just a pretty design you picked out of a book. Didn't know you were marked." Dean met her eyes. "So I made a choice. I could tell you everything right then, scare the hell out of you, maybe get you killed if the wrong people noticed you knew too much. Or I could keep tabs on you. Make sure nobody else figured out what you were."
"That's why you followed her to Smallville. Wait, what stones? Descendant of who?"
Dean pushed up, walking toward the counter but stopping well short of the Colt and Lana. "That tattoo isn't just ink. It's a mark. A symbol passed down through a specific bloodline of witches dating back to the 1600s. Your ancestor was Countess Margaret Isobel Thoreaux." He pulled out his phone and swiped through photos until he found what he wanted. He turned the screen toward them. "Burned at the stake in 1604 for practicing dark magic. But before she died, she hid something. Three stones of power that, when combined, could give someone god-like abilities."
The photo showed an old painting. A woman in period dress with dark hair and sharp features stood before a stone altar. Three crystalline objects sat on the altar's surface, each one glowing with a different colored light.
Tyson leaned closer. "Those are the stones?"
"The Stones of Power." Dean pocketed his phone. "Legend says Isobel scattered them before her execution. Hid them in different locations, protected by magic and traps. The tattoo is a map. Or part of one, anyway. It marks the bearer as a descendant with the right to claim the stones."
"That's insane." Lana's voice shook. "I'm not a witch. I don't have magic powers."
"Not yet." Dean met her eyes. "But the stones recognize bloodline. If you found them, if you put them together, they'd activate. And according to my family's research, whoever controls all three stones becomes unstoppable. Immortal."
Tyson processed this. Meteor rocks that gave people powers. A gun that could kill anything. Now magic stones, supernatural creatures, and witch bloodlines. Smallville was getting more complicated by the day. "Where are they? These stones?"
"I'm not handing you the treasure map." Dean's expression hardened. "Not until I know I can trust you both. What I will tell you is that one of them, the Crystal of Earth, is here. In Smallville."
Tyson's head snapped up. "Here?"
"The Kawatche caves." Dean crossed his arms. "My family's research suggests the crystal is hidden somewhere in that cave system, protected by the same magic that's kept it hidden for four hundred years. That's the real reason I came to Smallville. Not just to watch Lana. To find the stone before someone else does."
"So you came here to what? Protect her? Stop her from finding them?" Tyson asked. He hadn't been in the caves since they discovered them, but Clark had. His girlfriend, Kyla, was Kawatche, a skinwalker, and Tyson had saved her life weeks earlier. Regardless of what happened here, he'd need to look into this. Maybe introduce himself to her properly, since the one time they'd met, she was unconscious, naked, and bleeding out in need of healing.
"Both. When Lana told me she was going home to Smallville, Kansas, and I cross-referenced that with Kawatche in my research, I knew it wasn't a coincidence. One of the stones was in her hometown. I had to follow up."
"By stalking me?" Lana's hands clenched into fists. "By lying about why you're in Smallville? Who you really are."
"I took the coaching job to stay close. To watch for signs that someone else might be looking for the stones." Dean's expression hardened. "And I was right to worry. Three weeks ago, someone broke into the Smallville Historical Society. Stole every record related to the Thoreaux family."
"Who's 'they'?" Lana asked.
"Could be anyone. Rival families with bloodlines. Demons looking for power. A rich guy just looking for a piece for his mantle. Hell, could be the government for all I know." Dean's expression was grim. "The stones are legendary. People have killed for less."
Tyson thought about Lex's interest in meteor rocks. About LuthorCorp's secret Level 3. About Lex's sudden pivot on the office park project above the caves.
Lana stared at the painting. "And if I found them? If I put them together?"
Dean met her eyes. "Then you'd become the most powerful person on Earth. And everyone would want you dead."
"The caves are massive." Tyson had only seen a small portion when Clark had fallen in. "You could search for years and not find it."
"Which is why I need Lana." Dean looked at her. "The tattoo isn't just a mark. It's a key. When you get close to one of the stones, it should react. Glow, heat up, something. That's how Isobel's descendants were meant to find them."
Lana touched her lower back reflexively. "I've never felt anything like that."
"Have you been to the caves?"
"Once." She frowned. "I don't remember anything unusual."
Tyson didn't like where this was going. "So your plan is what? Take Lana into the caves and see if her tattoo lights up?"
"Eventually. But not yet." Dean shook his head. "Someone stole those historical records for a reason. They're looking for the same information I have. If we go charging into the caves now, we might lead them right to the stone."
Silence fell over the apartment. Tyson broke it, circling back to what mattered most.
"The gun." He kept his voice level, conversational. "You said it can kill anything. Why do you have or need something like that? Wooden stakes not enough for the vampires?"
"Vampires are real, yeah. But they're not what you think. No turning into bats, no sparkling in sunlight. They're humans infected by a strain that turns them into blood-drinking monsters. You cut their heads off, they die. Simple."
"Simple," Tyson echoed. He glanced at Lana, who stood frozen near the bathroom door, wrapped in his robe. Her eyes were wide, tracking between them like she was watching a tennis match where the ball might explode.
"The gun's not for vamps. It's for something that stakes and silver bullets can't touch."
"Which is?"
"A demon." Dean's voice went flat, the same tone he'd used talking about his mother's death. "Yellow-eyed son of a bitch who killed my mom when I was four. He's planning something. Opening a gate to Hell in Wyoming. If he succeeds, hundreds of demons get loose. Maybe thousands. Maybe Lucifer himself. The Colt is the only weapon that can stop it all."
A demon that required a magic gun to kill. He'd been thinking of Clark and Kara, of Doomsday and Darkseid. But demons and the actual biblical devil?
What the hell was he supposed to do now?
If he couldn't stop Eric when the kid had Clark's powers, he surely couldn't stop Lucifer. Could Clark? Tyson frowned. The one-day-Superman probably couldn't either. Magic was one of his weaknesses; he'd read enough comics to know that. And if anyone had magic, it would be Lucifer. Would that gun be any better in Dean's hands than in his own if it came down to it? What proof did he have that any of this was even true? If Dean lied about his name, what else was he lying about?
"Wyoming," Tyson said. "That's specific. When?"
"Don't know exactly. Soon. My brother's tracking it. I wasn't supposed to get involved with the high school, with football, with—" He stopped himself.
"With Lana," Tyson finished.
Dean's expression hardened. "That wasn't part of the plan."
"Plans change. So why are you still here? Why the coach act?"
"Teague looked like me. Kid got offed by a poltergeist last year, so I took his ID. I've been hunting things since I was a kid. I know what normal looks like, and you're not it. Neither is half this damn town."
"The meteor shower in 1989. It changed people. Gave them abilities." Lana said quietly.
Dean nodded slowly. "I figured that part out. Took me a while, but yeah. The rocks do something to people. Make them dangerous."
"Not all of them," Tyson said.
"No? Your friend Chloe kept pretty good notes on her Wall of Weird. Let's see. There was the kid who woke up from the coma and didn't age. The coach who could start fires. The girl who killed her own mother. The kid who threw Clark Kent thirty feet into a car and ran off carrying Tyson faster than anyone could track. Should I keep going?"
Tyson's hands clenched. "I'm an exception."
"Are you?"
"I use my powers to help."
"Today. What about tomorrow? What about when you decide the rules don't apply to you anymore? I've seen it happen. Good people, corrupted by power. It always ends the same way."
Tyson met his gaze. "I'm not going to turn evil."
"That's what they all say. Right up until they do."
Lana moved then, stepping between them with the Colt. "Stop. Both of you, just stop."
"Lana—" Dean started.
"No." She held up a hand. "You lied to me, Jason. Dean. Whoever you are. You lied about everything. Your name, your reasons for being here, all of it. And now you're lecturing someone I care about because you think he might become a threat someday?"
"It's not that simple."
"It is exactly that simple." Lana's voice shook, but she didn't back down. "You don't get to decide who lives and dies based on what they might do. That's not justice. That's just murder."
Dean's jaw worked. "You don't understand what's out there."
"Then explain it." Lana crossed her arms. "No more secrets. No more lies. If you're really here to stop the end of the world, if this gun is really the only thing that can save us all, then tell us everything. Let us help."
"This isn't your fight."
"The hell it isn't." Tyson moved to stand beside Lana. "You said demons are coming. That they might get loose in Wyoming. That affects everyone, not just you and your family. If Lucifer gets free, you think he's going to stay in Wyoming? No one wants to stay in Wyoming. You think Smallville will be safe?"
"You want to stop the yellow-eyed demon," Tyson continued. "Fine. I get that. Revenge for your mom, save the world, two birds with one stone. But I'm not letting you have this gun if I can't trust that you're going to use it for the right reasons, against the right targets."
The silence stretched between them, thick with tension, but Tyson could see the conflict in Dean's eyes.
"I've been hunting this demon my entire life," Dean said finally, his voice rough with emotion he was trying to suppress. "My dad died trying to kill it. My brother and I have sacrificed everything to stop it. That gun is a Winchester family weapon, and I need it to finish what my father started." His gaze flicked between Tyson and Lana. "I'm not asking you to trust me. I'm asking you to trust that I know what I'm doing."
"That gun can kill anything. You shot me with it." He gestured to where the bullet had grazed him. "What happens the next time you decide someone who's not a demon is a threat? Do you just execute them? I know that you were being manipulated by the meteor rock in the Gatorade, but even putting that aside, the question has merit."
Dean's jaw tightened. "I don't kill innocent people."
"Who decides who's innocent?" Tyson shot back. "You? Based on what criteria? Having powers? Being different? Because by that logic, a quarter of Smallville is guilty."
"You manipulated me." Lana's words were quiet but carried the weight of betrayal. "You've been lying since the day we met. About your name, your past, your reasons for being here. You made me care about someone who doesn't even exist." Her voice cracked slightly. "Why should we give you a weapon that can kill anything when we can't trust anything you say?"
The fight seemed to drain out of him. He looked at Lana with something that might have been regret. "Everything I felt for you was real. The name, the cover story, that was just protection. For both of us."
"Protection?" Lana's laugh was bitter. "You pointed a gun at someone I care about. You call that protection?"
"I call it necessity. Look, whatever's happening in this town is something we haven't experienced before. But that's nothing new. There are all kinds of supernatural creatures that we don't have records of. Alien rocks giving people strange abilities, that's just another Monday for us." He looked between them, seeming to weigh his options. "Let me prove I can operate in your world, help without making things worse. If I screw up, you keep the gun, and I leave Smallville. If I prove I can be trusted, we'll talk about the Colt again."
Tyson frowned. "What do you mean, help with something?"
"You said the cheerleaders were dosing people with meteor rocks. That's the kind of supernatural situation I deal with every day. Let me help you handle it. See how I work." Dean's voice took on a more professional tone. "I've been tracking supernatural threats since I was a kid. I know how to investigate, how to gather evidence, and how to stop things without collateral damage. Most of the time."
"Most of the time?" Lana asked.
"Nothing's perfect. But I'm good at what I do. "Look, I get why you don't trust me. I've given you every reason not to. But that demon is coming, and when it does, you're going to need someone who knows how to fight it. Let me prove I'm that someone."
Tyson considered the proposal. Part of him wanted to refuse outright. Dean had lied, manipulated Lana, and nearly killed him. But another part, the part that had seen Eric's rampage, that knew about Doomsday and Darkseid and all the threats Clark would face, recognized the logic in Dean's argument. If demons were real, if Lucifer was actually a threat, then they needed someone who knew how to fight that kind of enemy. Tyson's powers were formidable against meteor freaks and even Kryptonians, but magic? That was uncharted territory.
"The cheerleader situation," Tyson said slowly. "You'd work with us? Not take over, not make unilateral decisions?"
"I'd follow your lead. It's your town, your rules." Dean's expression was serious. "I can be an asset."
Lana was quiet for a long moment, studying Dean's face. The Colt was still within reach, where she could grab it if she needed to. She was the one Dean had manipulated, the one who'd been betrayed. "It's a fair compromise," she said finally. "But I keep the gun. Not Tyson, not you. Me. And if you try to manipulate anyone else the way you manipulated me, if you put anyone in danger, then you leave. Permanently."
Dean nodded slowly. "Agreed."
Tyson wasn't sure this was the right call. But Lana might be more objective than him at this point. She'd been the one directly affected by Dean's deception, and if she was willing to give him a chance... How could he choose between a maybe threat from Lucifer and the maybe threats from Superman's enemies that seemed unbeatable? At least with Dean, they'd have someone who claimed to know how to fight supernatural threats. With the enemies Tyson suspected were coming one day, they'd need every advantage they could get.
"Fine," Tyson said. "You want to prove you can be trusted? Then trust us enough to be honest."
Dean extended his hand. "Deal."
Tyson looked at the offered hand, then at Lana, who gave him a small nod. He reached out and shook.
"So," Dean said. "Tell me about these cheerleaders."