Chapter Text
The wind was like a living thing this high above the Earth, sharp and biting as it howled past him. Clark let it buffet against his broad shoulders and whip at his crimson cape, the air rushing in steady waves that carried the scent of oceans and deserts alike. Far below, the world sprawled in every direction, a patchwork of greens, blues, and grays stitched together by ribbons of cloud.
From here, the Earth looked serene, beautiful and peaceful.
But Clark knew better. Even at this altitude, even across continents, he heard them, the voices. Billions of heartbeats thrumming at once, a constant symphony of laughter, whispers, screams, and sobs. It was overwhelming, an endless ocean of sound and emotion. Years ago, it would have drowned him. Now, he focused and narrowed his awareness like a lens until only the cries that needed him cut through.
And there were always so many.
A dam in South America, its foundations crumbling after weeks of unrelenting rain, threatening to unleash a flood on a valley of villages. A wildfire ripping across the Australian outback, devouring everything in its path faster than the local fire brigades could contain it. In the Middle East, civilians trapped in a crossfire, pinned down by gunmen with nowhere to run.
It never stopped but for every disaster, there were people fighting back. Heroes, local and otherwise. Even now, Clark could hear capes in Paraguay and Brazil coordinating to stabilize the dam, their voices sharp and focused. In Iran, regional heroes were already in motion to push back against the violence. There were brave souls everywhere, standing against the darkness.
And Clark would stand with them.
He angled his body forward and blurred through the sky, the horizon bending before him as he sped through the air. His destination today was a cluster of remote villages deep in the Philippines, where a typhoon had just ripped through. The storm’s eye had passed, but the real danger had only begun. Whole mountainsides were collapsing in landslides, burying homes and people under walls of mud and timber.
As he descended through the storm clouds, the devastation came into focus. Entire swaths of green jungle had been stripped bare, replaced by slick brown scars gouged into the earth. Rivers overflowed their banks, turning fields into swamps.
Then the smell reached him, wet earth, splintered wood, and something far worse beneath it all. Desperation and fear.
And finally, the voices. There were hundreds of them, panicked and crying out in the darkness.
“Help us!”
“Someone, please, my daughter!”
“They’re trapped under the house!”
“Superman!”
“Someone help us!”
Clark didn’t hesitate. He shot downward, the sonic boom rattling the shattered rooftops as he landed in what had once been the center of a village square. The mud swallowed his boots halfway up his calves, but he didn’t flinch. Dozens of survivors stared at him, their faces streaked with grime and tears, and for a single heartbeat there was silence, stunned disbelief at the sight of him.
Then a boy’s voice broke through. “Superman!”
The name spread like wildfire, rippling through the crowd and hope ignited in their eyes.
Clark raised his hands in a calming gesture, his tone steady but commanding. “I’m here now. Everyone who can walk, move to higher ground, to those red flags on the ridge.” His voice carried across the ruin, firm but gentle. “Help the injured, help each other. I’ll handle the rest.”
As people scrambled to obey, Clark blurred into action.
He moved debris with his bare hands, lifting entire collapsed houses as easily as a child might lift a blanket. Beneath one, he uncovered a family of three, terrified but alive. Clark gave them a reassuring smile before whisking them to safety, returning in less than a second to dig out the next group.
He used his x-ray vision to peer through the mud, picking out human shapes amidst the wreckage and his enhanced hearing cut through the yells, focusing on the faintest heartbeats buried beneath tons of earth. Each time he heard one falter, he redoubled his speed.
At one point, a secondary slide began to roar down the mountainside, threatening to crush an entire cluster of survivors so Clark shot forward, catching a massive tree trunk mid-collapse and using it as a brace to divert the oncoming wave of mud and rocks.
Minutes passed like seconds and soon, every last voice was accounted for. Rescue workers began arriving and local capes moved in to manage what came next. Clark floated above the valley, surveying the landscape. It wasn’t over, rebuilding would take weeks, maybe even months but for now, the people here would live.
He exhaled slowly, letting some of the tension bleed away. One crisis down, hundreds more to deal with.
Then Clark opened himself fully to the world again, letting every voice rush back in. Billions of threads of sound, woven into a tapestry of life. Normally, he would focus on the next disaster, tune into the next cry for help.
But this time, he froze.
Amidst the countless voices, one cut through like a shard of glass. Fragile, but piercing and desperate. A voice he knew.
“Superman…please, help me.”
Amy!
Flying as fast as he could, Clark soon made it to Brockton Bay. The city came into view ahead, sprawling and gloomy as per its usual. Clark’s super-hearing sharpened as he honed in on Amy’s location.
There, at the bank!
The bank came into view as he descended through the clouds, with black smoke trailing from shattered windows. Outside, PRT vans were clustered behind hastily erected barricades. Officers were shouting orders while civilians were hurried into medical tents.
Three large dog shaped creatures fought the Wards, alongside a hodgepodge robot with a human head, who was dueling Kid Win.
Clark dropped from the sky like a meteor.
The closest dog-creature lunged at him mid-descent, massive jaws opening to clamp down on his chest. Clark’s hand shot out, catching the beast by its throat and twisted, redirecting its momentum and slamming it into the asphalt so hard the pavement buckled. The shockwave knocked the other two back several feet.
Gasps and cheers erupted from the troopers as they recognized him. “Superman!”
“Secure them!” Clark barked to the nearest PRT squad, his voice calm but commanding. “Non-lethal restraints only.”
“Yes, sir!” The lead officer snapped, rallying his team. They sprayed the creature with containment foam as Clark moved to secure the others as quickly as possible.
He needed to get to Amy, now.
Clark burst through the front doors of the bank in a blur. Dust, papers and debris formed a small vortex as he came to a stop in the middle of the lobby.
“I’m so sorry I’m late! Traffic here was terrible.” Clark said as he quickly scanned the room. Taylor was sitting on a blonde in a purple costume, the villain’s face now bruised and purple, while Amy held onto the blonde’s face. The two stared at him with red, tear stained faces.
Thankfully they were okay, they didn’t need him in the end after all, but better safe than sorry. Another teen boy was several feet away, wearing a Venetian style mask and holding his hands in the air. He stared at Clark in fear as the Man of Steel soon noticed who else was in the room.
Standing over an unconscious body covered in leather and a skull mask, was someone he never thought he would see again. Clark froze briefly as her bright blue eyes met his own. He knew those eyes anywhere, along with her matching clothes.
“Kal?” Kara looked at him in disbelief as he formed a small grin.
“Wait, you know her?” Amy interrupted as Clark took a few steps in her direction, and knelt beside the healer.
“Course I do.” Clark smiled as he turned to Taylor, who stared at him with wide eyes. He gave her a nod, which she returned. “She’s my cousin.”
“This is weird as fuck. Just arrest me already.” The villain Amy and Taylor secured grumbled.
Clark frowned as he struggled to hide his excitement. Kara was here! Which meant Lois Michael must’ve found a way home!
“Watch that language, young lady.” Was the last thing Clark could get out before Kara tackled him into a hug.
Gosh!
Soon after, the rest of the Undersiders were rounded up by the PRT and the Wards. Clark crossed his arms over his chest as he escorted Tattletale to the van that would take her to PRT HQ for processing. Kara was still waiting in the bank’s lobby, out of view of the PRT.
“That’s a nasty bruise you got there.” Clark chirped as he paused just before Tattletale could step onto the vehicle. “Make sure you get that checked out.”
The blonde turned to give him a blank stare, her eyes narrowing slightly. Tattletale then licked her lips and turned her gaze away.
“Aw, how sweet.” She croaked, her voice hoarse but laced with sarcasm. “The big blue boy scout offering medical advice. Tell me, Superman, you gonna kiss it better, or just keep pretending you’re not completely out of your depth here?”
Clark’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “A lot of people could have died today. Including you. I don’t think you understand how close you came.”
From what he understood, she was a Thinker who claimed to be a psychic, which wasn’t true. If she was, he would’ve sensed her trying to probe at his mental defenses. Taylor and Amy didn’t say much, only that Tattletale had known deep and personal secrets, using them as a weapon.
“I can die at any moment.” Tattletale answered with a dry laugh. “I probably won’t even make it to my jail cell, what’s one failed bank robbery to that.”
Clark’s eyes softened at Tattletale’s bitter words, though his posture remained steady, unshaken. There was something in her tone, it wasn’t defiance, nor bravado, but a deep, simmering resignation. He’d heard it before, in war zones and disaster areas, in the voices of people who lived every day on the edge of survival.
“You don’t have to live like that.” Clark said, his voice calm but firm. “Every life matters, including yours. Whatever you’ve done today, whatever mistakes you’ve made, you’re still here. You still have a chance to do better. Apologize, and accept the consequences of your actions.”
Tattletale snorted, though the sound came out half-strangled. “You really don’t get it, do you? This is Brockton Bay. Chances don’t mean jack shit here. You think I wanted to be here, in this mess?” Her smirk wavered, the cracks showing through her usual mask of confidence. “The moment I walk out of that cell, someone bigger and meaner decides whether I live or die. Or maybe they decide my friends pay the price instead.”
She was so certain she was going to die. Strange, from what he knew, the Undersiders specialized in quick jobs, in and out. Why would they take hostages and draw out this robbery longer than it should have?
Unless, someone ordered them to.
Clark crouched slightly so he was at eye level with her. “Then let me help you. You don’t need to keep running on this treadmill of fear and violence. There are people who can protect you, people who want to.”
Her laughter this time was sharper, almost pained. “Protect me? Please. I’ve seen what happens to ‘protected’ people around here. The PRT’s just another gang with better PR.” She glanced toward the barricades outside. “If they don’t use me, they’ll bury me.”
Clark didn’t flinch, didn’t let his expression harden into judgment. Instead, he spoke softly, but with unshakable conviction. “That’s not how it has to be. Maybe you’ve never met anyone who truly meant it when they said they’d help you, but you’ve met me now.”
She had hurt Amy and Taylor, and deserved to be punished for that, but if she also needed help then Clark would also be there. Anyone could change, even the meanest and most evil people in the universe.
For the first time, Tattletale faltered. She studied his face, likely searching for any sign of deceit or weakness in him.
“…You’re terrifying, you know that?” She muttered, her smirk returning in a diminished form. “I can’t read you like the others.”
Clark gave her a stern look, but smiled softly. “You and your friends think about what you’ve done. We’ll talk later, okay?”
Tattletale stared at him for a second before nodding. “If you say so, Boy Scout.”
The PRT officers pushed her onto the vehicle.
Amy was sitting by an ambulance by the time Clark found her. Taylor was in the middle of being checked on by the paramedics as he sat beside his friend.
“How ya feeling Ames?” Clark said, placing his hands on his knees as he looked towards the damaged bank. The PRT van beside the ambulance drove off, holding Grue who had been beaten by Kara.
“What do you think?” Amy muttered as she closed her eyes. “And before you ask, yes, I fixed his broken ribs, and no, I didn’t put a tumor anywhere in his body.”
Clark chuckled softly. “I wasn’t actually going to ask. I know you wouldn’t have done that.”
Amy opened one eye, before the other and buried her head in her hands. “But I thought about it.”
Amy’s voice trembled, muffled by her hands. “I thought about it so hard, Clark. After what she said about me, about my-” Her breath hitched, and she shook her head sharply, cutting herself off before she could say more. “And then about Taylor. About what she’s been through. What I’ve been through. She knew about all of it!”
Clark’s hand rested gently on her shoulder. “Thinking about it and doing it are two different things.” He said softly. “The fact that you didn’t, that’s what matters, Amy. It shows who you are, not just who you’re afraid you might become.”
Amy looked up, her eyes bloodshot and filled with exhaustion. “She knew everything, Clark. Stuff I’ve never told anyone, stuff that not even I knew about. She just, she tore me apart with it. Like she could see inside my head and pick out every wound, every scar, and she enjoyed it.”
Clark’s jaw tightened at that, anger flickering across his features before he mastered it. “Tattletale can’t actually read minds. I don’t know how her power works, but it looks like she notices patterns, insights, connecting dots no one else notices. It feels like mind reading, but it isn’t. She can’t see the real you.”
Amy gave a bitter laugh. “She saw enough.”
“She saw what you fear about yourself.” Clark countered gently. “That’s not the same as the truth.”
Amy swallowed hard, staring at her hands like they were foreign objects. “When I had my hands on her, I could’ve-I could’ve done it, Clark. Just one wrong pulse, and she would’ve been gone. I felt it, how easy it would’ve been.”
Clark didn’t flinch. “And you didn’t.”
Amy’s voice cracked. “Because you, Vicky and Taylor wouldn’t forgive me.”
“Because you wouldn’t forgive you,” Clark corrected softly. He leaned forward, making sure she met his eyes. “Amy, the people I’ve seen who cross that line, they never stop at one. It becomes easier each time, until they don’t even recognize themselves. You didn’t take that step. You’re much stronger than you think.”
Amy’s shoulders trembled. “I’m so tired of being strong.”
Clark’s expression softened, and he pulled her into a gentle embrace. “Then lean on me for a while, lean on your friends.” He murmured. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”
Taylor, watching from the ambulance, looked away quickly, pretending not to notice, though Clark caught her gaze. Her hands were clenched tightly in her lap, her knuckles white. He’d have to talk to her after he was done with Amy too.
An awkward cough interrupted them. Kara hovered a few feet away, her arms folded over her chest, and her eyes flicking between Amy and the paramedics. The hard set of her jaw softened when she caught the tremor in Amy’s hands. She landed with a scuff of grit and asphalt, cape settling.
“You okay?” She asked, the words coming out brusque but not unkind. Heh, classic Kara.
Amy scrubbed at her face. “I will be.”
Taylor slid off the gurney before the medic could protest and drifted closer, guarded but curious. “You’re really his cousin?”
Kara shrugged. “So they tell me. You don’t see the family resemblance?” Her gaze dipped to Taylor’s split knuckles, then up again. “Nice right hook.”
Taylor blinked, thrown off. “Uh… thanks.”
Clark straightened beside them. “Kara, this is Amy and Taylor. They’re both friends.”
“Right.” Kara said, glancing toward the bank. “Your ‘bank near an interdimensional portal’ city tried to eat me on landing, by the way.”
“Welcome to Brockton Bay.” Taylor muttered.
A PRT sergeant jogged over, his helmet tucked under one arm. “Superman, sir. We’ve got the scene under control. The Wards are returning to base, and the Protectorate is en route to meet them at PRT HQ. Director Piggot requests you at the command post when available.”
Clark nodded. “I’ll be there in a minute.” He turned back to Amy. “Do you need anything? Water? Space?”
Amy shook her head. “Just stay a second.”
He did, and Taylor joined her on the opposite side.
They were such good friends.
Chris hated kids.
Okay, maybe hate was a strong word. He didn’t hate them, per se. It’s just that kids were fragile, loud, and way too good at asking questions that got under your skin. Every single one of them were little assholes, but this one? This tiny, pale, exhausted little girl walking a few feet ahead of him? She wasn’t just any kid.
Apparently she had some psychic powers that kept telling her somebody wanted to kidnap her.
Yeah, totally no pressure.
Chris adjusted the strap of the heavy pistol hanging off his chest and glanced to his left. Adrian was skipping, actually skipping, like they weren’t walking through a Brockton Bay neighborhood filled with drug dealers and half-burned-out cars.
“Dude.” Chris hissed. “Cann you, like, walk like a normal human being? We’re supposed to be subtle.”
Adrian froze mid-step, one foot hovering in the air. “What? Skipping’s very subtle! Nobody expects the dangerous, heavily armed guy to be skipping. It’s like, peak subterfuge.”
Chris pinched the bridge of his nose, counting to three. “…You’re an idiot.”
“I’m your idiot.” Adrian said cheerfully, resuming a normal pace. His swords bounced against his back as he waved at a passing mailman. The mailman immediately crossed the street, with some piss running down his legs
Dinah didn’t laugh. She barely reacted at all. The kid was walking stiffly, like every step hurt her, and she kept glancing over her shoulder, wide-eyed, like she expected monsters to come pouring out of the shadows.
And honestly? In this city, that wasn’t far off. They had only been here back and forth like a month and even Adrian could tell this place was a shithole.
Chris cleared his throat. “Hey, uh, kiddo. You holding up okay?” His voice came out gruffer than he intended. He wasn’t great at soft voices, hell, his regular voice scared half the people he talked to.
Dinah’s head tilted slightly, but she didn’t look back at him. “I’m fine.”
It was the kind of fine that definitely meant not fine. Chris recognized it, he used it all the time.
“Right. Cool. You, uh, want me to carry you? You look like you could use-”
“No.” The answer was instant, but then her voice turned softer: “…I can walk.”
Chris shut his mouth. There was a long silence, broken only by the crunch of their boots on broken glass and the occasional distant siren.
The cracked sidewalks soon gave way to clean, evenly laid brickwork. Manicured lawns stretched out on either side of the road, dotted with neatly trimmed hedges and trees wrapped with tiny white lights. The houses were bigger here, not mansions, but the kind of homes where the garage doors didn’t squeal when they opened and the fences weren’t rusted.
Middle-class. Safe and normal or at least, that’s what it looked like on the surface.
Chris kept his hand near his holster anyway. He’d learned a long time ago that shiny neighborhoods could hide rot just as bad as the slums. Sometimes worse. At least in the bad parts of town, people didn’t bother pretending.
Adrian, of course, was oblivious. He trotted along like a golden retriever. “Wow, look at these houses! Bet they’ve got, like, really nice Wi-Fi here. Maybe even full bars in the bathroom!”
Chris shot him a glare. “Adrian, for the love of God, shut up.” It was hard not to curse, especially in front of a little girl.
Dinah didn’t react. She walked between them like a ghost, her pale face turned down toward the pristine pavement. Even in this picture-perfect neighborhood, she kept glancing over her shoulder like she expected someone to jump out of the shadows.
Chris’s gut twisted. The kid should’ve felt safe here, instead, she was wound so tight she looked ready to bolt.
As they passed one particularly nice house, two stories tall, with fresh paint, and a little garden out front, a man in a business suit was setting out the trash. He gave them a polite smile and a nod, clearly trying to ignore the fact that two heavily armed weirdos in costumes were escorting a kid down his street.
Adrian waved enthusiastically. “Hi there! Don’t mind us, just a friendly neighborhood escort service!”
The man practically tripped over himself, retreating back inside in a scramble.
Chris muttered under his breath. “You’re gonna give that guy a heart attack.”
“What? I was being friendly!” Adrian huffed.
Dinah said nothing, hugging herself tighter.
Finally, they stopped in front of a neat brown house with a bright blue door and flower pots lining the porch steps. There was even a shiny new car parked in the driveway, but Dinah didn’t move to go inside. She just stood there, trembling and staring at the door like it was a wolf’s mouth ready to swallow her whole.
Chris frowned, crouching so he was at her level. “Hey, kiddo. You’re home. We’ll stick around until you’re inside, then we’ll take off. You’ll be safe now.”
Dinah shook her head violently. “No! Please don’t go.”
Chris paused for the briefest of seconds.“What do you mean?”
Her eyes filled with tears, but her voice was steady. “I don’t want to be here alone. It looks nice, but it isn’t. They smile and say everything’s fine, but it’s not. I’m not safe here.”
Chris’s stomach turned to lead. “Who’s ‘they,’ Dinah?”
She didn’t answer directly. Instead, she grabbed the front of his ridiculous eagle-logo vest with both tiny fists and looked up at him with raw, desperate fear.
“Be my bodyguard.” She whispered. “Please.”
Chris froze once again. Bodyguards? Him? This was insane. He was a killer when he had to be, sure, but guarding a little girl twenty-four-seven was different. Then he saw her shaking hands, her lip trembling as she tried to stand tall. She was terrified, but she still asked. She trusted him.
Before Chris could even respond, Adrian squealed. “OH MY GOD, YES! We can be like royal knights protecting a princess! Do we get cool uniforms? Matching hats? Maybe some kind of secret handshake?”
Chris didn’t even look at him. “Adrian. Shut. Up.”
Dinah’s grip on his vest tightened. “I can’t trust anybody else.”
Chris let out a slow breath, the weight of her words settling over him. Finally, he nodded. “Alright, kid. You got it. Nobody’s gonna hurt you. Not while we’re around, but you’ll need to get your parents permission.
Adrian saluted dramatically. “Princess Dinah, consider yourself officially under our protection!”
Chris ignored him, focusing on Dinah. He stood tall, scanning the perfect little neighborhood with new eyes. It might look peaceful, but if anyone tried to hurt this girl again, they’d have to go through him first.
There was a reason why he was called Peacemaker.
A/N
I’m sure a lot of you were shocked when you saw the chapter length. As this third arc is finished, thank you to everyone who’s been reading along!
This story wouldn’t be possible without all of your support! Big things will be coming soon, very soon.
I hope you enjoy them.