Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The smell hit Taylor’s nose first, it was everywhere. Thick and clinging to her , as if every breath pulled something rotten deeper into her lungs. Rotten lettuce gone black at the edges, sour milk soaking through paper until it was more paste than carton. That sharp, acrid tang she recognized, urine, buried under layers of other smells. The worst was the damp, moldy heaviness that seeped into her clothes, into her hair, into her skin.

She tried to breathe through her mouth, but even then the taste lingered, sour and chemical. Her tongue felt coated, as though she’d swallowed something that would never go away.

Taylor Hebert pressed her back against the inside of the locker and tried not to think about the wetness that had seeped through her shirt where she was leaning. The space was narrow enough that her knees were bent awkwardly, shins pressed against one wall, shoulders against another. The metal was cold where it wasn’t warm from her body heat.

The metal walls of the locker pressed in against her shoulders and knees, the ridges biting into her back when she tried to shift her body. There was no room to stretch, it was just barely enough to curl forward. Her calves ached and her arms were tingling where they were trapped between her knees and the door.

At first she’d screamed and screamed, the sound raw and too loud in the tiny space. Taylor pounded her fists against the locker until the skin of her knuckles split and became bloodied. She kicked the metal until her shoes slipped and her toes throbbed from the pain. The locker rattled and groaned but didn’t give in.

No one came.

Now her voice was gone, her throat felt raw every time she swallowed. The pounding in her ears sounded like it came from her heartbeat, slow and heavy now that the first panic had burned itself out. Her body was cooling down now, shivering from her sweat that had nowhere to evaporate.

Taylor tried to count. Seconds, minutes, anything to keep her mind steady, but the numbers always fell apart. She’d lose track and find herself staring into the dark, imagining shapes she couldn’t see.

Once, something damp brushed her palm and she jerked away, her elbows slamming into the metal with a hollow clang. The noise was too loud in the close air, her breath quickening until she forced it down again. She didn’t want to think about what it had been, she couldn’t. 

The dark wasn’t just the absence of light, it was also the weight, pressing down on her eyelids even when they were open. It was a presence that sat heavy on her skin, making her feel smaller and smaller until she was nothing more than a lump of breathing meat in a metal coffin.

The thought came unbidden.

  I could die here .

And the worst part? She didn’t even know if anyone would notice if she died. 

Taylor tried to picture her dad finding out. His face when the police told him. The idea hurt, like a sharp knife twisting in her chest, so she shoved it away. She’d learned a long time ago that thinking about what she wanted only made it worse when she didn’t get it.

Taylor closed her eyes and tried to imagine somewhere else. The sound of rain against her bedroom window, the quiet rustle of pages in the library. Even just walking home in the fall, the air smelling of salt from the bay, but the rancid smell always yanked her back. The locker walls were always there when she opened her eyes.

“Help me.” She whispered so lowly even Taylor could barely hear it. 

Then she heard something. Itwas a faint noise at first, a deep, soft whump like a heavy door closing in another building. Then again, and again as it drew closer.

The metal around her vibrated faintly. Not the sharp, tinny rattle of someone kicking the locker. There was something different about the air. A strange pressure, like the air in the locker wanted to move, wanted to go somewhere.

Taylor’s mind immediately argued with itself.  It was probably a hallucination, or wishful thinking, or just an oxygen-starved daydream. Winslow didn’t send rescue parties, but then the sound came again, heavy but controlled, as steady as a drumbeat.

And then, she saw the light.

Not a flicker. Not a thin line around the door’s edge. It burst in, stabbing into her eyes until they watered. The metal didn’t creak — it gave way all at once, peeling outward like paper. The shriek of steel being torn away was there and gone in the same instant.

Cool air flooded in, clean and sharp and so fresh it hurt. She gasped before she even thought about it, greedily dragging it in. Her lungs expanded fully for the first time in what felt like hours, and it was almost enough to make her dizzy. The first breath hit her lungs so hard she coughed, gasped, and took another, greedier than the last.

She blinked against the glare, shapes forming slowly. What was a cape doing here? He stood there like the answer to a question she hadn’t dared to ask.

The Cape was tall with broad shoulders. The blue of his suit was so rich it almost glowed in the sunlight streaming through the windows. The red cape that caught the light and kept it, like a banner in sunlight. The gold-and-crimson crest, a stylized S, burned in her vision even when she blinked.

And his eyes were steady, warm, fixed entirely on her.

Taylor didn’t see any disgust nor pity in them. Just a deep, unshakable certainty, the kind that made you believe in them without thinking.

“You’re safe now,” The Cape said, his voice strong but kind. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here earlier.” 

The words weren’t loud, but they resonated, like they’d been built to last. Her legs went out from under her before she could stop them. She tipped forward, bracing for the bruising impact with the floor,  and then his arms were around her.

It wasn’t like being grabbed with disgust, no, he had caught her without hesitation, without strain. The Cape didn’t seem to care that she was filthy, and ignored the contents of the locker as he lifted her as though her weight meant nothing, but his touch was careful, like he was holding something precious.

Her mind stuttered. She wanted to tell him she was fine, that she didn’t need this, that she didn't have to be saved. But nothing came out of her mouth. Taylor's throat was closed and all she could do was cling to him, her breath hitching against the warm solidity of his chest.

The stink of the locker was gone, replaced by something she couldn’t place, something clean with sunlit fabric and a faint, impossible warmth, like the air on a perfect spring morning.

He bent his head so his voice was meant only for her. “What happened to you should never happen to anyone. I’ll make sure it doesn't happen ever again.”

Her mind tried to argue, to remind her that this was Brockton Bay, that nothing lasted, that even the strongest got worn down here. That he would leave and the city would go back to what it was.

But some deep, small, stubborn part of her refused to listen. For the first time in years, something inside her eased. Her shoulders, hunched so long they’d forgotten any other position, lowered fraction by fraction. Taylor breathed steadily as she slowly closed her eyes. 

It felt dangerous to believe him. Hope was a sharp thing in her chest, equal parts ache and relief, but she couldn’t help it.

For the first time since the door had slammed shut, since the darkness had wrapped her in its choking grip, Taylor Hebert believed, really believed that someone was here for her.

And that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t alone anymore.

A/N

This was inspired after watching James Gunn’s Superman, which I really loved. 

Chapter Text

Danny Hebert hated hospitals. They smelled wrong. The air was too clean and reeked of chemicals at the same time, antiseptic overlaid with something faintly sour, like coffee gone stale in a break room nobody cleaned often enough. The lighting was worse, the constant, low hum of fluorescent tubes, the kind of brightness that made healthy skin look washed-out and sickly.

He’d been here for hours, though the wall clock claimed otherwise. Two in the morning, no, that couldn’t be right. It felt like he’d been sitting in the hard-backed chair for days.

The phone call kept replaying in his head:

“ Your daughter was found in a locker.” 

“Covered in trash and cuts.”

“Unresponsive.”

He couldn’t put the words together without his hands tightening into fists.

Taylor laid under the thin hospital blanket, so still she could’ve been a photograph. Her hair had been washed, but the damp strands fanned across the pillow made her seem even paler. An oxygen cannula rested under her nose. The beeping of the monitor was steady, but every time it faltered for even half a second his chest clenched.

He’d burned through the rage hours ago. Now all that was left was a cold ache and the echo of every mistake he’d made as a father.

The door to their room opened slowly. Danny looked up and froze.

The man who stepped in filled the doorway like a shadow that carried its own light. He wore a blue suit with a crimson cape. The gold-and-crimson S so vivid it seemed to burn against the sterile white of the room.

Superman .

For a long, awkward second, Danny didn’t move. He’d seen the man in headlines, on the news, standing in the middle of disaster zones the world over, but those images had always belonged somewhere else. Endbringer Battles, S-Class threads, world ending events. Not Brockton Bay, and certainly not to a cramped hospital room with his unconscious daughter.

“I wanted to check on her.”  Superman said, his voice quiet but warm, like the words themselves carried weight. “And on you.”

Danny swallowed the saliva that had built up. “You-you pulled her out of that locker.”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation and no false humility in his words. Just facts. “She was still conscious when I reached her. She fought to stay that way all the way here. That kind of willpower is rare” Superman’s eyes softened. 

Danny’s gaze dropped back to Taylor. “I didn’t know it had gotten this bad.”

“It’s not your fault, Mr. Hebert.” Superman stood beside him. 

Danny let out a bitter laugh. “I’m her father. Everything’s my fault. I should have known.”

Superman shook his head, stepping closer to the bed. “You raised someone who kept fighting when most people would’ve given up. That’s not failure.”

“If you hadn’t been there-” Danny started as he choked on his words. 

“She would still be fighting,” Superman interrupted gently. “But I was there, and I’m not going to vanish just because she’s safe for the moment. You’re not alone in this.”

It was a simple thing to say, but it hit Danny like a body blow. In Brockton Bay, help didn’t just walk in the door, and it sure as hell didn’t stick around.

Superman looked at the empty chair on the other side of Taylor’s bed, then at Danny. “Do you mind?”

Danny shook his head.

The hero sat down, the chair groaning faintly under his weight, but he moved carefully, almost deliberately, as if trying to take up less space than his large frame allowed. For a moment, they just sat there in silence, the steady beeping of the monitor between them.

Suddenly, Danny found himself speaking. “She used to be fearless. When she was little, she’d climb the tallest trees in the park, fence posts, anything she could get a grip on. I’d tell her to be careful and she’d just laugh.”

Superman smiled faintly. “I saw that spark today. When I opened that locker, she looked right at me, not like she was waiting for me to fix it, but like she was deciding if I was worth trusting.”

Danny gave a short huff that might’ve been a laugh. “That sounds like her.”

Superman’s gaze lingered on Taylor. “When I was younger, before the world knew me, I helped a family in my hometown during a bad flood. Their daughter was trapped in a barn, barely twelve. By the time I got her out, her dad was so angry at himself for not getting there first that he wouldn’t even look at me. It took me years to understand that it wasn’t me he was angry at, it was himself.”

Danny stared at him, his lips dry. “…So you’re saying-”

“I’m saying you can spend the rest of your life blaming yourself for things you didn’t cause-” Superman said evenly. “-or you can be here for her when she wakes up. I promise you, she needs the second one more.”

Danny’s hands clenched and unclenched in his lap. “And the people who did this?”

“They’ll answer for it.” Superman had no bravado in his voice, only the kind of certainty that made it sound inevitable. “But that fight doesn’t need to be yours alone.”

For a moment, the only sound was the soft hiss of the oxygen and the rhythmic beep of the monitor. Then Danny felt the hero’s hand settle lightly on his shoulder, not heavy, not threatening, but grounding. When did he miss the huge man getting up? 

“You’re not alone in this.” Superman said again, softer this time.

Danny blinked hard and looked away, his throat too tight to answer.

They stayed there for another twenty minutes, two men from entirely different worlds watching over the same sleeping girl. Superman asked small questions, about Taylor’s favorite books, about whether she liked the water, about what made her laugh, and listened to every answer like it mattered.

When the door finally opened again and a nurse peeked in, Superman rose from his kneeling position beside Danny, his cape shifting with the motion and moved to leave. 

He looked back at Danny, his expression still steady, but now with a faint curve at the corner of his mouth. “She’s going to wake up to a world that’s a little safer than the one she closed her eyes in, and I’ll make sure of that.”

Danny didn’t trust his voice to vocalize his words, so he just nodded, but something in his chest loosened.

The hero took one last glance at Taylor, then at him. “You’ll both be alright, Mr. Hebert. I promise.”

Danny remained silent as Superman left and the Nurse did another check on Taylor. 

He looked at his daughter, her chest rising and falling in time with the steady beep of the monitor, and for the first time since the phone call, he let himself believe she would open her eyes again, and when she did, she wouldn’t be facing the world alone.

Not anymore. 

A/N

This was originally going to be a one-shot, but I couldn’t help it so now there’s going to be a lot more. 

Chapter Text

Brockton Bay woke under a sky the color of wet steel, low clouds hanging heavy enough to make the air taste like rain. Winslow High squatted under it like a stubborn stain on the neighborhood, brickwork streaked dark from years of weather, windows smudged and gray.

Inside, the building smelled faintly of damp carpet and floor wax. Students clustered in small knots along the hallways, their voices hushed in that particular way that wasn’t really quiet, the kind of whisper that carried faster than normal speech. Most of them were pretending to check phones or dig into their backpacks, but their eyes kept darting toward the staff offices.

The story was already halfway around the school.

Taylor Hebert.

The locker.

The hospital.

Superman.

Some kids told it like an urban legend, their voices full of mock disbelief. Others looked pale and kept glancing over their shoulders, as if simply knowing might make them the next target.

In the principal’s office, Principal Blackwell paced behind her desk, her coffee mug cooling in her hand. Vice Principal Radigan sat across from her with a folder open on his lap, flipping through the same half-page incident report for the fifth time.

“This is a nightmare.” Radigan muttered. “The PRT hasn’t cleared us to release anything yet, and if we-””

The door opened without a knock nor warning. 

The door frame filled with broad shoulders and a flash of deep blue and a red cape spilling into the room like a banner caught in a silent wind. The gold-and-crimson S was brighter than anything in the drab office, as if it carried its own light.

Superman stepped inside. The air seemed sharper with him in it, and for a moment, both administrators forgot to breathe. What was he doing here? 

“Good morning.” He said, his voice level as his eyes revealed nothing. A Cape that refused to wear a mask was a rarity, especially one no one knew anything about. “We need to talk about Taylor Hebert.”

Why would he care about such an unimportant girl? Blackwell’s professional smile was a shade too tight. “Superman-”

“I need the names of the students who locked her in that locker.” He interrupted, not raising his voice and not moving too quickly, but leaving no space for interruption. Superman placed his hands behind his back as he fully stepped into Blackwell’s office. 

Blackwell hesitated. The PRT weren’t going to like this one bit. “We’re still conducting our internal investigation. Until we have confirmation, it wouldn’t be appropriate to-”

“Confirmation?” Superman’s gaze didn’t waver. “You have physical evidence, witnesses and a hospital record. Taylor nearly died and you’re talking about confirmation? How much more confirmation do you require?”

Radigan cleared his throat. “The PRT has asked-”

“I’m not here for the PRT’s convenience. I don’t answer to them.” Superman’s tone didn’t sharpen, but the air between them seemed to grow heavier. “I’m here because the longer you delay, the more you tell every student here that cruelty is tolerated, even rewarded.”

Blackwell tried again, voice falling into practiced bureaucratic rhythm. “There are privacy laws to consider-” 

“Privacy.” Superman interrupted, his voice serious. “-does not shield someone from the consequences of abuse. Their age does not give them an excuse to commit the crime they did!” 

The room went still as Superman stepped closer to the desk. He wasn’t aggressive, just present, so present the walls seemed to lean inward.

“Emma Barnes. Madison Clements. Sophia Hess.”

Radigan blinked. Blackwell’s fingers tightened around her coffee mug until they went white. How did he know? Did he know the whole time and was just testing them?  

“I heard them speaking about it yesterday after I saved her.” Superman said, calm as ever. “It happened before the end of the school day, I had corroboration from multiple sources. If you require a report for your files, I can provide it to you, along with the names of every student willing to testify.”

Of course he did, he likely bribed the brats with pictures or autographs. Blackwell’s lips parted, but no sound came. The PRT and the school district were going to have their heads. Superman was one of the world's most powerful heroes, having already killed Behemoth on his own within weeks of his arrival. 

“You have one chance to demonstrate that this school can protect its students.” Superman continued. “If you choose not to act, I will ensure the proper authorities, outside of the PRT, have everything they need to do so.””

Superman turned toward the door, his cape shifting with the motion. “This city has enough predators. You will not shelter more inside these walls. Do the right thing, please.” The Cape left without slamming the door, but the silence he left behind was like the air before a storm.

Shadow Stalker’s funds wasn’t worth all of this hassle. Blackwell sank into her chair as the footsteps receded down the hall, each one a steady, measured sound until they faded entirely. For a moment, the only noise in the office was the faint tick of the wall clock and the hum of the fluorescent lights.

Radigan finally let out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face.

“You realize-” He muttered darkly. “-if we follow through on this we’re going to have the PRT breathing down our necks for weeks. Maybe months.”

Director Piggot waa going to make their lives a living hell. Blackwell stared at the cooling coffee in her hands. The dark surface trembled, not from her grip, but from the residual weight of the man who’d stood here minutes ago.

“And if we don’t?” She asked quietly. One didn’t antagonize the World’s Strongest Man for any reason. 

Radigan didn’t answer, but they both knew. It wasn’t just the consequences for their jobs or the school’s reputation, but the image that had been burned into their minds, broad shoulders, a steady voice, and a promise spoken without a trace of doubt. 

Perhaps it was time Sophia Hess found herself a new school. 

Somewhere down the hallway, a few students had caught sight of Superman through the office window as he’d left, shooting up into the air from the school’s front lawn. Whispers were already starting to spread, and such whispers always evolved into rumors. 

Superman came here. 

He knows who shoved that nerd in the locker. 

Someone made the worst mistake of their lives. 

For the first time in years, fear was running in the right direction.

A/N

Thank you all for all of the support! I never expected KIPR to blow up the way it did!

Chapter Text

This Earth was strange. Not strange in the fact that they put weird stuff on philly cheesesteaks like anchovies, but strange in the way everyone seemed darker or sadder. Well, that was to be expected with how many threats existed compared to Clark’s homeworld. From a certain point of view, this Earth was almost like a future version of Clark’s Earth, and he didn’t even mean to come here. 

One minute he was investigating one of Lex Luthor’s leftover facilities, since said billionaire was going to be spending a long time in Belle Reave, and the next thing Clark knew he was now stuck in another Earth. The rift had pulsed with the kind of unnatural energy that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. It had barely given him time to react before dragging him in. The sensation had been like being pulled through ice water and lightning at the same time, and when he stumbled out the other side, Clark noticed the Earth’s skyline was wrong. The air even smelled different, like a city that had forgotten how to breathe clean air.

Still, Mr. Terrific and Lois would be able to find a way to bring Clark back home, he was sure of it. This wasn’t the first impossible situation he’d been in, and every time before, there’d been a way forward. He could almost hear Lois telling him not to brood, that if anyone could make the best of an impossible situation, it was him. Still, Clark already missed Jimmy, who was still complaining about Eve blowing up his phone after Lex was taken to join. On the other hand, Mr. White was going to be so mad, Clark had almost used up all of his PTO! He was going to need several headliners to make it up to the old man. In the meantime, he tried to keep busy, help where he could and stay out of the way where he couldn’t. Clark wasn’t able to do that often. 

That’s how he found himself on a park bench at noon, a paper bag of food in his hands. Millions of people across the world needed his help, but there was no use in spreading himself so thin that nobody would end up being saved in the end. 

Clark passed half of his ham and cheese sandwich to the man sitting beside him, a wiry older fellow with a frayed coat and sunken eyes who had introduced himself only as ‘Red.’ His cheeks were gaunt and his hands were wrapped with old cloth. They ate in silence for a while, the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bird filling the gaps. Anchovies really didn’t belong on cheesesteaks. He should’ve flown to Philly instead of staying in Brockton Bay for lunch, but Clark didn’t want to stray too far, not while he was on a mission. 

“Not from around here, huh?” Red said between bites, glancing at Clark like he already knew the answer.

Clark smiled faintly. “Something like that, but I think anyplace can surprise you if you give it a chance.” He wiped his cheek with the sleeve of the coat he had found in some back alley. 

With the costume Ma made for him hidden under these raggedy clothes, and cheap pair of glasses, Clark was easily able to blend in with the general public. The PRT and Protectorate, those government heroes, would have a hard time looking for him. 

Red gave him a side look, skeptical but curious. “You think so?”

Clark nodded, taking a sip from his drink, a nice sweet tea. “Back home, I’ve seen cities come back from worse than this. People can surprise you too, sometimes all it takes is one act of kindness to get the ball rolling.”

The older man snorted lightly, not quite believing him, but Clark just kept smiling. He knew better than anyone that hope had to start somewhere. Clark leaned back against the bench, letting the hum of the park sink in. Even here, with the air tasting faintly of exhaust and the buildings hunched like tired shoulders, he could still find moments like this, quiet, human moments. He enjoyed it way more than battling these Endbringers, or those Slaughterhouse Nine, who weren’t as tough as they thought they were. All Nine were sitting in that one jail, the Birdcage, that the government owned, and the Endbringer Behemoth was safely thrown out into outer space to hopefully find a new, more peaceful world to live in. 

“You know.” He said after a beat, earning a glance from Red. “It doesn't take much to start turning things around. Maybe it’s a stranger who lends a hand, or a neighbor who checks in when they don’t have to. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that good can spread just as fast as bad.”

Red chewed slowly, his eyes narrowing in thought. “Sounds nice, but it doesn’t work like that here, though.”

Clark just chuckled softly. “That’s what they said back home too. Then I saw it happen, over and over again. You start with one person who believes things can be better and sooner or later, they’re not standing alone.”

For the first time, Red’s mouth twitched like he might smile, but he didn’t push it. He just finished the last bite of his sandwich and stood, pulling his coat tighter. “You’re alright, stranger. Watch yourself out here. Thanks for the sammich.”

Clark watched him go, disappearing into the shuffle of the city as his smile lingered. He’d learned a long time ago that not every seed took root immediately, but planting it was still worth it.

People like Red, worn down and cautious, but still willing to listen, reminded him of someone else he’d met recently

Taylor came to mind, a fragile child unconscious in a hospital bed. He didn’t know her, but even then he wouldn’t wish what happened to her on any of his enemies, even Lex. 

The way she’d looked at him when he opened that locker still stuck with him, that flicker of caution, deciding in a heartbeat if he was someone she could trust. She hadn’t looked like someone who wanted saving; she’d looked like someone who wanted a fair chance to stand back up.

Clark knew that look. He’d seen it on disaster survivors digging through rubble for neighbors, on workers in towns LuthorCorp had tried to gut and abandon, on people who had every reason to quit but refused to. That was the thing about hope, it wasn’t loud or flashy, sometimes it was just the stubborn refusal to stay down.

She was young, too young to have already learned how cruel people could be, but she’d fought to stay awake, to breathe, to not let whoever did this win. If someone like her could still hang on in a city this bruised, then there was something here worth protecting. Something worth helping to grow.

Clark stood, brushing crumbs from his hands. The Barnes family didn’t know it yet, but they were about to have a very direct conversation about what they’d allowed to happen. And maybe, just maybe, Taylor Hebert could start believing in the same thing Clark did. That no matter how dark the world seemed, there was always a way forward.

He adjusted his glasses, stepped off the curb, and headed toward his next stop. 

A/N

This was one of my favorite chapters so far. 

Chapter Text

The late-afternoon sun was low in the sky when Clark descended over the Barnes’ neighborhood, the gold light spilling across sloped rooftops and clipped lawns. His shadow rippled over the pavement before him, stretching long and unmistakable. The quiet suburban street had the kind of peace that felt practiced, like it had been painted over something uglier underneath.

He landed gently in the Barnes’ front yard, the grass bending but unbroken beneath his boots. A sudden gust from his descent set the porch wind chimes into a nervous tangle of sound, their tinny notes carrying into the stillness. Curtains twitched in nearby houses, the neighbors were likely watching him to see why he was here. 

Clark walked up the path, each step measured and steady. His cape caught the dying light, its edge brushing softly against the porch boards. He didn’t knock like someone impatient, instead he knocked like a man who expected the door to open, and knew there was no pretending not to be home. He held back his strength as he knocked three times. 

Mrs. Barnes opened it first, her expression freezing halfway between polite welcome and startled fear. “S–Superman?” She managed to get out, her voice almost catching in her throat.

“Mrs. Barnes, my apologies if I startled you.” Clark said calmly, and hoping for the best. He gave her a reassuring smile. “I’d like to talk about your daughter and about Taylor Hebert.”

She hesitated, glancing behind her as if seeking backup. Her husband, Alan Barnes, appeared a moment later, his expression guarded, the color already draining from his face. From the brief research Clark did, the man was some small-time lawyer that worked with Carol Dallon, Vicky and Amy’s Mom. The two sisters didn’t seem to have a high opinion of him, but Clark tried to not remain biased, he didn’t truly know the man. 

“This isn’t a police matter.” Alan said, defensively as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“No, it isn’t.” Clark agreed, the case was too fresh for it to truly be a police matter as of right now. “It’s a matter of right and wrong.” He stepped forward, not threatening, but unavoidably filling the space between them. “Taylor was hurt deeply !nd I’ve been told your daughter was part of it. I’m not here to make threats. I’m here to make something very clear, cruelty is not strength. Silence is not protection, and looking the other way when someone is being harmed is the same as helping it happen.”

Mrs. Barnes swallowed hard. “The school said it was handled-”

His eyes, clear and steady as the sky, locked on hers. “Handled means safe. Is Taylor safe now? Is she treated with respect? Or is she still walking Winslow’s hallways like a target painted on her back?”

Neither of them answered, but somewhere inside, a floorboard creaked, the sound of someone listening from the stairs. Clark didn’t need to use his X-Ray vision to know who it was. 

Superman’s tone softened, but the weight in it remained. “You can still choose to do the right thing. Talk to Taylor, talk to the school again, and talk to your daughter. Show her that empathy isn’t a weakness, that standing up for others is worth more than protecting pride or popularity.”

He stepped back, the faint rustle of his cape the only sound. “I’m not here to scare you, but I am here to remind you, change starts with you, and if you don’t change, nothing will.”

The Barnes said nothing as he gave them a small smile to be reassuring. “I hope you two make the right choice.” 

With that, he turned and lifted off, the air swirling around the porch as he rose into the sky. The Barnes stood in the doorway, watching him vanish into the clouds, no orders given, no threats made, only the uncomfortable certainty that Superman expected better of them.

No, not Superman, Clark or even Taylor. 

Humanity expected better. 

The rain had ended less than an hour ago, but it still clung to the air, turning every distant car’s headlights into soft halos. Streetlamps hummed weakly, their light diffused across puddles that mirrored the darkening clouds overhead.

Madison Clements stepped out of the side door of the corner café, adjusting the strap of her bag as she tapped something into her phone. Her walk was unhurried, casual, but her eyes flicked toward her reflection in the shop window as she passed, checking hair, posture, the way she presented herself. She reminded Clark of Eve, Jimmy’s soon to be ex-girlfriend. 

Clark was watching from across the street, leaning against the frame of a bus shelter. Not in uniform, not yet. Just Clark Kent with his coat collar turned up, looking like any other tired commuter. He let her get half a block ahead before stepping off the curb.

She ducked into a narrower side street, probably to shave a minute off her walk home. That’s the alley where he usually changed. A blur of red and blue replaced the man in the coat, and a heartbeat later he was there at the other end of the street, framed by the dim glow of a flickering lamp, his clothes folded in a neat pile on the top of a nearby roof. 

“Madison.” The way her name landed in the quiet made her stop cold. Shoot, he was being too scary. Clark slapped his forehead mentally, he wasn’t trying to be Bruce. Madison’s head turned slowly, eyes widening when she recognized the man in the cape.

“Uh, wow.” She said, sliding her phone into her pocket. “Superman. I didn’t think you…visited neighborhoods like this.”

“I do.” Clark said, voice calm but carrying down the narrow street. “When it matters, Mr. Chuckles like to get stuck in trees, and Annabelle wouldn’t like that very much.”

Madison gave him a tight, rehearsed smile. Hm, she likely heard the rumors about his presence at her school. “Well, you’re a little far from Los Angeles, aren’t you?” His official temporary base, until Michael and Lois found a way to make a portal to this world. In actuality, he liked spending time exploring towns and cities that didn’t exist back home. 

“A little.” He admitted, staying where he was to not intimidate the teen. “But I go where I’m needed.” 

“Is this about the gangs?” She asked, tone light but with an edge of forced humor. “Because I’m definitely not a gang-”

“It’s about Taylor Hebert.”

Her face didn’t fully change, but the smile thinned, and her shoulders drew in. Nervous people always did that, especially when Clark Kent, news reporter for the Daily Planet, arrived to conduct an interview. 

“She’s…someone I know from school.” Madison admitted. 

“You know she’s more than just a classmate.” Clark said, with a soft sigh. “I’ve heard about the locker, about the bullying, and about the way she’s been treated by everyone.” He had to do some digging, posing as a news reporter, which wasn’t a lie! 

“That’s-” Madison started to defend herself, but his look stopped her. It wasn’t a glare, not even anger, just disappointment." 

“I’ve been to a lot of cities.” Clark said quietly. “I’ve seen a whole lot of heroes, villains and monsters, but they’re honestly not the scariest in the world. Do you know what scares me the most, Madison?” 

The young girl nodded slowly. 

“It’s how a single person’s cruelty, even small and quiet, can make someone feel like there’s no way out. You don’t have to throw a punch to hurt someone, Madison.” Clark made sure his voice was soft as he took a small step towards her. 

Her hands were in her coat pockets now, but her fingers were restless inside the fabric. “It’s…not like I’m the worst one.”

“That doesn’t matter. You could be a bystander and still be involved if you don’t do anything to help stop it.” Clark said, taking a half step closer. His voice didn’t rise, but it filled the space between them. “What matters is you still have a choice, right now. You can be the one who makes things worse, or you can be the one who stops it.”

Her gaze darted toward the mouth of the alley. “And if I don’t?”

“Then you’ll know exactly what you are,” Clark said, without malice. “And you’ll have to carry that.”

“I-I don’t know what to do.” Madison’s voice was little more than a whisper as she looked away. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“Just apologize.” Clark gave her a small smile. “Apologize, and act on it. Actions speak louder than words.”  

“And what if she doesn’t forgive me?” Madison finally looked up at him. “What if Emma and Sophia turn on me like they did to her?” 

Clark’s expression softened, but there was a gravity behind it that made Madison’s shoulders sink.

“Then you’ll know how it feels.” He said gently. “And maybe that will make you stronger, not the kind of strength people pretend to have by hurting others, but the kind you build when you choose to do the right thing even when it costs you.” 

Even if she was one of Taylor’s bullies, he wouldn’t let anyone do the same to Madison. Nobody deserved that kind of treatment. 

Madison’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. The wind tugged at the edges of her jacket with the distant hum of traffic filling the silence between them.

“You don’t have to be perfect-” Clark continued, his voice quieter now, -“but you do have to start. You don’t have to fight Emma or Sophia head-on. You can tell the truth, you can stop laughing when someone else is hurt, and you can be the person who sits beside her instead of walking past.”

She looked down at the cracked pavement between them. “That sounds like a lot.”

“It is.” Clark admitted, “But you’re capable of it. I’ve seen people change in ways they never thought they could. You’ve got that choice, right now, before it’s too late for Taylor to believe anyone cares.”

For a long moment, Madison didn’t speak. Then she gave a small nod, more to herself than to him.

“I’ll…think about it.” She finally said. 

“That’s a start.” Clark stepped back, the shadows of the alley shifting as his cape moved. “But don’t just think, act. Every day you wait is another day she spends wondering if anyone sees her at all.”

Without another word, he rose into the air, the wind from his ascent sending ripples through the puddles at Madison’s feet. She watched until the red and blue vanished into the overcast sky, her hands still deep in her pockets, but her posture just a little less certain than before. Clark hoped, truly hoped, that she’d take the first step.

 In his experience, the smallest ones often mattered the most.

A/N

Clark’s fun to write. 

Chapter Text

The hum of the HVAC system was almost loud enough to drown out Armsmaster’s voice. Almost. The man had been droning on for twelve minutes about a new modular halberd attachment, complete with diagrams she didn’t need to see and budget numbers she didn’t have the patience for.

“-with the adaptable power cells- Armsmaster ranted.“-I can swap between halberd configurations mid-combat in under three seconds.”

“Which is still three seconds longer than you’ll have against a Class-S threat.” Piggot said, not bothering to look up from the tablet in front of her. She already made her decisim before tge meetint even started. “Your last tinker upgrade request already gutted our discretionary budget for the quarter.”

Armsmaster’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply immediately. She knew the type, he was brilliant, arrogant, and absolutely convinced the world would end if they didn’t get their pet projects greenlit. Before he could start another justification lecture, the intercom on her desk chirped.

“ Director Piggot?” Her secretary’s voice was a shade too high, betraying unease. Strange, he wasn’t usually like that.

Emily stabbed the button. “What is it, Hines? I’m in the middle of-”

“It’s… ah… Superman, ma’am. He’s here. I, the building, says he wants to speak with you directly.” Agent Hines was a veteran of the PRT, yet was stuttering and pausing like a recrukt. 

Emily’s first thought was that it was some Tinker trick or elaborate cape prank. Superman was not on her roster, not in any PRT jurisdiction, and had been spending a suspicious amount of time in Brockton Bay. He pulled some teenager out of some locker at Winslow, the result of some bullying campaign. It was strange, Shadow Stalker hadn’t mentioned that in her reports. 

Her pulse didn’t spike, not outwardly, but she felt her stomach drop. She’d seen the combat footage. This wasn’t some cape with a flashy codename and a clever gimmick. 

That was the Superman. 

The one who’d flown halfway across the continent to pull a container ship out of a hurricane. The one who, according to Protectorate analysts, had taken down an Endbringer-tier threat in under ten minutes, launching Behemoth into space with ease. Ever since his arrival to Brockton Bay a few days ago crime rates had dropped significantly, with none of the gangs willing to act up with him here. 

He was so powerful, the unofficial Alexandria-package was already under talks to be renamed the Superman-package. Emily glanced at Armsmaster. The man’s jaw had set like concrete, his eyes likely narrowing fractionally behind his visor. 

“Did he say what it’s about?” Emily asked, her voice even.

“No, ma’am, just that it’s important, and he… flew here. Landed on the roof without triggering any alarms.” Agent Hines continued. 

Of course he had.

Emily leaned back in her chair, letting a beat pass as she considered her options. Dismissing him outright could be interpreted as hostile. Bringing him in well, if the stories about him were even half true, security measures were window dressing. Superman could take on the entire Protectorate ENE and PRT combat officers and win without a scratch. Still, there was a chain of command to maintain.

“Escort him to my office.” Emily said finally. “Full protocol, Armsmaster, you’re staying here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The Tinker said, his clipped tone making it clear he was already recalculating contingencies.

The air in the Director’s office felt heavier, and not just because of the reinforced doors. Five minutes laters there was a polite knock. 

Two PRT troopers entered first, the professional stiffness in their movements bordering on nervousness. Behind them came the man himself, broad-shouldered, standing tall in a way that made the space seem smaller just by existing in it. The cape was unmistakable, the colors vivid against the office’s muted tones. He moved like he was aware of every eye in the room but didn’t need to meet them to command attention.

And even with his face unmasked, revealimg his piercing blue eyes, the PRT still had no idea who he was in his civilian life. The man could’ve walked in without his costume and no one would’ve known. 

Emily rose from her chair, not out of courtesy, but because meeting him sitting down felt like conceding ground. “Superman.”

“Director Piggot.” Superman replied, his voice even but carrying the kind of depth that filled the room without effort. He gave her a polite smile. 

Armsmaster stood at her side, his halberd subtly angled in a non-threatening but ready position. Emily could feel the faintest tension in the air, like static before a storm.

“You asked to speak with me directly.” Emily said. “You have my attention. I assume this isn’t a social call.”

Superman shook his head slightly. “No, Director, though I wish it was. I’m here about one of your Wards, Sophia Hess, Shadow Stalker.”

Piggot didn’t flinch, but her eyes sharpened. How did he find out one of her Wards identity? Those were top-secret. Those were grounds for having him arrested, but that would likely end badly, for the PRT. “Go on.”

“I’ve been in Brockton Bay long enough to hear the whispers. I’ve spoken to witnesses. I pulled a girl, Taylor Hebert, out of a locker she’d been shoved into and left for hours filled with trash. She was hurt, humiliated, and terrified, and one of the names that comes up, again and again as the ringleader, is Sophia Hess.” Superman’s voice turned serious. 

Piggot’s tone cooled another degree. This wasn’t a good look on her and the PRT as whole if it got out. “If you’re suggesting-” 

“I’m not suggesting anything.” Superman said, his voice still steady but with a weight behind it that reminded her of Alexandria. “I’m telling you, your Ward is abusing her position to bully and assault a classmate. Out of costume, she’s just another teenager, but in costume, she’s got your badge. Either way, she’s hurting people and you don’t care, or you know and you’ve allowed iit continue.”

Piggot’s jaw set. Armsmaster’s visor tilted toward her, as if gauging her reaction before speaking. “We have procedures for internal discipline-”

“I’m sure you doz” Superman interrupted, “-but procedures aren’t worth much if they’re used to protect the abuser instead of the victim. I don’t care about your chain of command, Director. I care about what’s right.”

He stepped closer, not aggressive, but close enough that Piggot could see the steel behind his calm. “Taylor Hebert deserves to feel safe in her own school. And I’m here to make sure she gets that. If the PRT can’t, or won’t, handle Hess, then I will.”

The office went very quiet, even the hum of the HVAC seemed to fade. Why was he getting involved with this when there were so many other bigger and more important issues in the world, even just in Brockton Bay alone? 

Piggot’s gaze didn’t leave his. “You’re treading very close to interfering with PRT operations.”

“And Sophia Hess is walking all over the line between hero and villain.” Superman replied. “I think we both know which side she’s standing on right now.”

For a long moment, Piggot didn’t speak, then, slowly, she leaned back in her chair. “Fine. You’ll have your conversation with me in the room, but understand this, the Wards are my responsibility, and you don’t get to dictate Protectorate policy.”

Superman gave a single nod. “Then prove you can live up to that responsibility.”

Piggot pressed the intercom on her desk. “Get Shadow Stalker up here, now.”

The rat broke her probation and wants to embarrass the PRT? 

Not on Emily’s watch. 

A/N

How's your day so far? 

Chapter Text

Sophia had been called into Piggot’s office plenty of times before. Usually it meant a lecture, a dressing down, another reminder of how thin her leash really was. Most days she walked out with a smirk, knowing that the PRT needed her far more than she needed them. Shadow Stalker was effective, and nobody could deny results, but this time felt different.

The air in the waiting room outside Piggot’s office was heavy and too quiet. The secretary wasn’t tapping at her keyboard, just sitting stiff, eyes darting anywhere but at Sophia. When Piggot’s door opened, she expected the same old song and dance, the director’s sour glare, Armsmaster looming with a disapproving frown, and another warning she could shrug off. The Protectorate ENE and the Wards were understaffed, they needed her. 

Instead, she froze.

Because standing inside, impossibly tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing colors that seemed to radiate authority, was him.

Superman .

He wasn’t just another cape, nor a local hero she could sneer at or a Ward she could shove around. Superman filled the room like a storm front, the scarlet cape trailing behind him as if the air itself bent to give him space. Sophia’s instincts screamed danger and not the kind she could dodge with shadows. This was a predator that didn’t care if you thought you were untouchable. 

Superman was the one who killed Behemoth and the Slaughterhouse Nine nearly a week apart. They said he made even Alexandria and Legend look like small fish. 

Piggot’s voice was clipped. “Close the door, Stalker.”

Sophia swallowed and obeyed. She hated that her hand hesitated on the knob, that her body betrayed the nerves curling tight in her chest. She leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, schooling her face into a scowl. “What’s this? Some publicity stunt? You bring in a cape from the other coast to lecture me?”

Sophia’s words came out sharper than intended, her voice riding the edge of a sneer. She needed that bite, needed to push back, because anything less meant showing weakness. Superman didn’t move at first, didn’t even twitch. He just stood there, impossibly calm, eyes steady in a way that made Sophia feel like she’d been peeled open and laid bare. Fucker probably had X-Ray vision or something.” 

Piggot folded her hands on her desk, her glare razor-thin. “This is not a stunt, sit down.”

Sophia ignored the order, her chin tilting higher. “So what, you fly in the big guns because Armsmaster couldn’t handle me? What’s next, the Triumvirate personally telling me to keep my grades up?” Her laugh was brittle and barbed. “Are you really that desperate?”

Superman finally spoke. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried, low and certain, like steel wrapped in velvet. “You think this is a game.”

Sophia felt the air shift, like the weight of his words pressed against her chest. She pushed off the wall, her posture sharpening into a fighter’s stance. “I think I’m the only one around here who gets results. Everyone else plays tag with ABB thugs while I actually put them in the hospital, so forgive me if I don’t bow and scrape because you decided to drop in from the sky.”

Piggot’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t intervene. She wanted this to play out huh? Stupid Pig. 

Superman took one step closer. Just one, but it was enough to make Sophia’s shadow-fingers twitch at her sides, the instinct to melt into the dark buzzing through her veins. His gaze never left hers. “Results without discipline, violence without restraint. You’ve left a trail of fear so wide your own team doesn’t trust you. That isn’t strength, it’s failure.”

Sophia scoffed, masking the crack in her composure with louder defiance. Superman was the strongest predator. “Spare me the lecture. You don’t know Brockton Bay, and you don’t know me. Around here, mercy gets you killed. Maybe in New York you can smile and wave, but in these streets? Weakness is a death sentence.”

“And what about those weaker than you?” Superman asked, his tone still maddeningly level. “The ones you’ve made your targets. Do they deserve the same death sentence?”

That made Sophia stiffen. Her lips curled back, defensive and sharp. She had heard that Superman pulled that bitxh out of the locker. “If they can’t survive, then they don’t belong out there. That’s reality.”

Superman’s eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in something worse, disappointment. “No. That’s the excuse of a bully hiding behind a mask.”

The silence after that was suffocating, even Piggot didn’t breathe too loud, and she was fat as fuck. 

Sophia’s teeth ground together, fury and shame boiling under her skin. She wanted to lash out, to spit another retort, to shadow-step past him just to prove she could, but her body didn’t move.

Superman’s presence pinned her like gravity itself, unshakable and unmoveable. 

“Sit down.” Piggot ordered again, quieter this time.

Sophia barked out a laugh, sharp and bitter. “No kidding. So what’s this then? You flew all the way out here to tell me to be a good girl? Don’t waste your breath. I’m not one of your little fans, and I don’t need a babysitter. Go save another whore or something.” 

Piggot’s jaw twitched, but she stayed quiet. This wasn’t her show anymore. No, the Pig was the smallest fish in here, with two wolves. Superman’s gaze hadn’t shifted; it was like being under a spotlight that stripped away every mask Sophia had ever worn. He didn’t look angry, he didn’t even look disappointed. Superman just looked at her, and that was somehow worse.

“You think this is about being a fan?” Superman asked. His voice was calm, but it carried weight that pressed down on the room. “Shadow Stalker, you’ve been given a gift, two, actually. Your powers, and a second chance to use them in service of others, and you’re squandering both.”

Sophia sneered, pushing off the wall. “Spare me the sermon. I’m not some charity case you can fix with a few nice words and a pat on the head. I’ve put more ABB and Merchants in the ground than half this city combined. Don’t talk to me like I’m not pulling my weight.”

Superman took one step forward, and the floor almost seemed to echo differently under his boots. “You call that service? You don’t just attack criminals, you brutalize civilians for petty grudges. You terrorize your teammates, you nearly crippled a girl for no reason other than your own pride. That isn’t justice, it’s cowardice.”

Sophia’s teeth clenched. “Don’t you dare call me a coward.” Her voice cracked, anger rising hot in her throat. “I go out there every night and put my life on the line. I bleed for this city. I don’t hide behind press conferences and photo ops. So don’t stand there and act like you’re better than me.”

For the first time, Superman’s voice sharpened, steel threading through it. “I don’t have to act, Sophia. I am better than you, because I remember why we fight. It isn’t to feel powerful, it isn’t to hurt people because we can, it’s to protect them, no matter who they are. Even the ones you think are beneath you.”

Sophia’s shadow twitched at her feet, her instincts screaming to melt away, to vanish into the darkness and escape that crushing presence.

Superman’s gaze didn’t waver. It was steady, relentless in a way that stripped the smirk right off Sophia’s face. He folded his arms, and somehow the motion carried more weight than any shout.

“You assaulted a civilian, Sophia. Not a gangbanger, not a parahuman threat, an unarmed girl in your school.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried, deep enough that it pressed against her ribs. “She ended up in the hospital because of you.”

Sophia pushed off the wall, heat flaring in her chest. “That bitch Taylor, she was asking for it. Weak and pathetic, people like her-”

“-are the people you swore to protect.” Superman’s words cut clean through hers, like steel shears through paper. He didn’t raise his voice, but it felt louder than a shout. “You wear a badge, Sophia. You wear a symbol that says protector, and you abused it to terrorize someone who couldn’t fight back.”

Sophia’s fists clenched. “You don’t know her! She’s not some innocent little flower. She’s-” She stopped, realizing the edge of desperation in her own voice. Sophia dragged in a breath, forcing her sneer back into place. “She’s nothing. People like her drag everyone else down. If she can’t stand up for herself, she deserves what she gets.”

Superman’s expression didn’t shift, but his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. There was no anger there, not the kind Sophia could recognize or push back against. It was more disappointment, sharp enough to make her want to snarl just to fill the silence.

“You think strength is hurting those weaker than you?” Superman asked. “That’s not strength. That’s cowardice. You tell yourself you’re a predator, but all I see is someone too scared to face a real fight, so you prey on the ones who can’t hit back.”

For the first time in years, Sophia felt something crawl cold down her spine, not fear of being caught, not fear of losing her mask, but fear of being seen. She needed to escape. 

Piggot cleared her throat. “Superman requested this meeting because your conduct has crossed into territory we can no longer excuse. If it weren’t for your identity and the complications it brings, you’d already be in juvenile detention.”

Sophia’s chest was tight, but she masked it with venom. “You think you can just walk in here and tell me how to do my job? You don’t know Brockton Bay. You don’t know me. People like Hebert are dead weight. The city’s drowning, and you want me to waste time babysitting some pathetic loser who can’t even survive a locker?”

Superman’s eyes locked onto hers. Calm. Steady. Immoveable. “No, Sophia. I want you to understand that putting her in that locker wasn’t a test of survival, it was an act of cruelty, and it nearly killed her.”

Her lip curled. “She deserved it.” The words left her mouth like a blade thrown out of reflex, sharp, desperate, meant to wound before she herself could be cut.

Piggot’s pen snapped in her hand. Even Armsmaster shifted. And Superman, his silence pressed down heavier than a scream.

“You call yourself a predator.” He finally said, his voice was deep and quiet, but it filled the room until Sophia’s pulse hammered in her ears. “But predators protect their territory. They don’t poison it. You wear the title of hero, but you’re nothing more than a bully hiding behind a mask.”

“I’m not a bully!” Sophia’s voice spiked, too loud, too raw. “I keep people alive out there! ABB, Merchants, Empire, while everyone else drags their heels, I hunt. I make them afraid. I make them bleed. If I have to break a few worthless nobodies along the way, that’s just the price of keeping this city standing!”

Superman took a step closer, and Sophia’s shadow twitched against the wall like it wanted to flee without her. “No.” He said, tone unshakable. “The price you’re paying is your humanity, and it’s running out. I understand you want to take down those criminals, but don’t do it at the expense of the innocent!”

Piggot leaned forward, seizing the moment. “Sophia Hess. Effective immediately, you are suspended from Ward duties. You will surrender your gear and follow internal investigation protocols. If not, I will terminate your contract and remand you to juvenile detention.”

Sophia spun toward her, eyes wide. “You can’t! You need me! Without me, this team collapses. You think Gallant, Aegis, or that little crybaby Vusta can do what I do? You think anyone else has the guts?”

Piggot’s glare could have cut glass. “The Wards will function without you. Heroes are not measured by how much blood they spill. You are not indispensable.”

Superman’s cape shifted as he folded his arms, his gaze still locked on her. “This is your last chance, Sophia. You either change, truly change, or you lose everything, and if you ever touch Taylor Hebert or try to hurt anyone else again, mask or no mask, I’ll be the one standing in your way.”

That sounded like a challenge. 

A/N

Time for a short break so I can update some other stories. 

Chapter Text

Taylor’s eyes fluttered open, sluggish, the world above her swimming in blurs of pale light. For a moment, she thought she was still underwater, drowning in that dark, endless locker, lungs burning as filth and rot forced its way inside her. Her chest tightened, a strangled gasp tearing from her throat as she clawed weakly at the sheets wrapped around her body.

“Taylor-Taylor!”

The voice cut through the panic like a lifeline, raw and trembling. Something warm seized her hand, steady and grounding. Her wild eyes found focus at last, and the blur sharpened into a face she hadn’t seen for what felt like forever. Dad…

Even without her glasses, Taylor could see that her Father’s eyes were red, ringed with exhaustion, but the moment she met them, they brimmed with tears. His rough, calloused thumb traced the back of her hand, as if to convince himself she was real, that she wasn’t about to vanish again into a nightmare.

“Dad…” The word came out a whisper, her throat raw and weak. She swallowed, the taste of hospital sterility coating her mouth. It was nasty. 

Dad bent closer, pressing her hand against his cheek. His voice cracked, every syllable dripping with guilt and relief. “I thought I lost you. God, Taylor, I thought I lost you.”

She blinked slowly, the weight of his words dragging memories back up from the dark. The laughter, the smell, the crushing walls and then light. Her body shuddered, and she tried to turn her face away, but her Dad didn’t let go of her.

“I’m here now.” Dad said quickly, as if reading the tremor in her shoulders. “You’re safe now, you’re not there anymore. You’re herewith me.”

Tears pricked at her eyes. Safe, it didn’t feel like a real word. Not when the shadows of that locker still lingered in every breath, every flicker of the light. Not when her body remembered every second of suffocation, but his voice…his grip… they anchored her.

Her lips trembled. “Why…why didn’t anyone—”

“I didn’t know.” Danny’s words broke, guilt flooding his face. “If I had, Taylor, I swear, I would’ve moved heaven and earth to stop it. I would’ve, I promise.” He shut his eyes, voice choking. “I failed you.”

Taylor couldn’t bear it, couldn’t see him unravel when she was barely holding herself together. With what little strength she had, Taylor squeezed his hand.

“You didn’t.” She whispered, though her voice wavered with everything left unsaid.

The room fell quiet, the steady beep of the heart monitor filling the silence between them. Danny leaned closer, forehead brushing hers, as if afraid she might disappear if he gave her even an inch of space.

The hospital room was quiet except for the steady beep of the heart monitor and the low hum of machines. 

Afternoon light filtered through the blinds, soft and golden, cutting the antiseptic white with a hint of warmth. Taylor lay propped against her pillows, pale but awake, the shadows under her eyes betraying weeks of lost time. She hadn’t said much since waking beyond a few words to her father, her voice still raw and unused.

Dad sat at her bedside, one hand lightly resting over hers, reluctant to let go even for a moment. He looked up when the door opened, not the usual shuffle of a nurse or doctor, but something else. 

Superman ducked slightly as he stepped inside, the cape trailing behind him like a banner. He didn’t belong in the too-small, too-human space of the hospital room, and yet he moved carefully, as though he were afraid to disturb even the air.

Taylor’s breath caught. She blinked, unsure at first if her mind was playing tricks. His presence felt like a dream, even if the last thing she remembered was Superman pulling her from the locker. He was supposed to be a story, a headline, a symbol. Yet here he was, filling the room with a quiet presence.

“Hello, Taylor.” Superman said softly, his voice gentle in a way that seemed to reach past her exhaustion and pain. He held one hand behind his back. “May I?” He gestured toward the chair on the other side of the bed.

Taylor’s lips trembled before she found the strength to nod. Danny squeezed her hand once, his throat working as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t trust himself not to break. He rose silently, giving them space, and stepped back toward the window.

Superman sat, folding his massive frame down with a care that made the chair creak. He didn’t speak immediately. His eyes lingered on her face, the bandages, but his expression held no judgment, only compassion.

“You’ve been through a lot.” He said finally. “More than anyone your age should ever have to endure. I wanted to see you… to tell you that what happened to you was wrong. None of it was your fault.”

Her eyes stung, blurring. Taylor swallowed hard, but the words slipped out in a whisper. “They…they locked me in. Left me in there to dke.”

Superman’s jaw tightened, but his tone stayed calm. “I know, and I promise you, those who did this will face the consequences.”

Taylor turned her face slightly toward him, studying the emblem on his chest, the impossible brightness of it. “Why?” she croaked. “Why do you care? I’m not anyone unimportant. The school, her classmates, they had all abandoned her. 

Superman leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his voice low but steady. “Because injustice anywhere matters everywhere. Because people like you deserve to be seen, protected, believed. You are important, even if you don’t think you are.” 

Something cracked in her then, a pressure that had built since the bullying started, since Emma betrayed her. A sob caught in her throat, muffled by her hand. Superman didn’t move closer, didn’t try to touch her, but his presence filled the silence, an anchor against the storm breaking free inside her.

The words hit her like a weight. Tears stung the corners of her eyes before she could stop them. “It doesn’t change anything. I’m still the girl who was locked in there. I’m still the freak everyone hates.”

Superman shook his head. “You’re a survivor. You endured something no one should. That takes strength. More than most people will ever know. And you have your Father to help, and a friend.” 

“I don’t have any friends.” Was Taylor’s dry response, her voice even more sore now. 

Superman gave her a small smile as he unveiled what he was hiding behind his back. It was a small owl plushy, covered in grey and light grey feathers. A small card with a stylized S was in its wings. “Sure you do, I’m your friend.” 

Taylor blinked at the owl plushy, her lips parting slightly. It wasn’t flashy or expensive, just soft, round, a little silly, like something you might win at a fair, but in Superman’s hand, it felt impossibly heavy, like it carried meaning she couldn’t quite understand yet.

Her voice came out rough. “That’s…for me?” Superman called himself her friend. She was definitely still asleep. 

Superman nodded, offering it gently. “Owls see in the dark. They’re quiet, patient, stronger than they look, and they don’t need anyone to tell them their worth. They just are. I thought it might remind you of that.”

Her fingers trembled as she reached out, brushing against the plush feathers. She hadn’t realized how cold her hands were until she felt the warmth of the stuffed toy. Something in her chest cracked, the fragile shell she’d built just to survive. She clutched it weakly to her chest, burying her face in its softness, and for the first time since the locker… she let herself cry without holding it back. 

Her Mother had called her that once. 

Little Owl . 

Superman didn’t speak or move once again. He just sat with her, the kind of silence that wasn’t empty but steady, as if he could carry the weight she couldn’t.

Danny rubbed a hand over his face, trying to hide his own tears, but he failed. His voice was hoarse when he finally whispered, “Thank you.”

Superman gave him a small, solemn nod, but his eyes never left Taylor.

Taylor pressed the owl close, her voice breaking in half when she whispered, “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Superman’s reply was simple, but it struck with the weight of truth. “You’re not.”

A/N

The threadmarks have been updated now.

Chapter Text

■

Welcome to the Parahumans Online message boards.

You are currently logged in, Reave

You are viewing:

• Threads you have replied to

• AND Threads that have new replies

• OR private message conversations with new replies

• Thread OP is displayed.

•  Ten  posts per page

• Last ten messages in private message history.

• Threads and private messages are ordered chronologically.

■

♦ Topic: Superman V Behemoth (Guess who won)

In: Boards ► News & Events

Bagrat (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)

Posted On Nov 1st 2010:

...I'm honestly speechless.

Okay, I was going to wait until the PRT made a statement but screw it. Multiple sources are confirming what everyone saw on the live feeds: Superman took down Behemoth. Not drove him off. Not 'bought us time.' He beat him.

Details are still fuzzy but I’ve seen at least a dozen different angles of him literally lifting Behemoth off the ground and hurling him into the atmosphere. Then he followed him up and… didn’t let him come back down.

Holy shit.

(Showing page 1 of 1000)

►Chaosfaith

Replied On Nov 1st 2010:

This has to be fake. Simulacrum or illusion. I’ve been around since the Simurgh first dropped, and I’ve seen people fake dragon fights on YouTube for clout. Don’t tell me we’re actually supposed to believe one cape soloed Behemoth.

►Noveltry (Kyushu Survivor)

Replied On Nov 1st 2010:

Nope. It’s real. I was in Switzerland when Behemoth came up. Half my block was slagged before the capes got a cordon set up. Superman flew me and my family miles away in a few seconds.

I saw the fight with my own eyes. Superman moved faster than Legend could track, and when he hit Behemoth the ground shock cracked buildings a mile away.

►Notmyrealname (Unverified Cape)

Replied On Nov 1st 2010:

Okay but—if he’s that strong, where was he before? Behemoth has killed millions. Leviathan wiped out Newfoundland. The Simurgh is still out there. What, he just swoops in now, no explanation? I don’t like this. Nobody is that good without a catch.

►Clockblockfan (Cape Groupie)

Replied On Nov 1st 2010:

Shut the hell up. The guy just saved millions of lives. For the first time in decades, we had an Endbringer fight that ended with one casualty: Behemoth. I don’t care if he’s secretly a Case 53 or an alien or whatever. He deserves a goddamn parade.

►Dragonrider

Replied On Nov 1st 2010:

PRT just released a statement confirming Superman isn’t aligned with any known Protectorate branch. Independent, apparently. No registration on record.

►WagTheDog

Replied On Nov 1st 2010:

I don’t care what the PRT says. I just saw the footage of him standing over Behemoth’s body like it was a broken toy. He’s not human, he's something else.

And if he’s on our side? Maybe we actually have a shot.

►Red Queen

Replied On Nov 1st 2010:

Don't jinx it...

End of Page.   1, 2, 3 ... 998, 999, 1000

■

♦ Topic: S9 Defeated?

In: Boards ► Announcements ► News

Ninenomore (Original Poster) (Wiki Warrior)

Posted On Nov 9th 2010:

So, uh, I’m not sure if everyone’s seen the reports yet, but Superman just wiped out the Slaughterhouse Nine. I’m talking all of them. Jack, Bonesaw, Siberian, Crawler, every single one. Confirmed by multiple Protectorate branches and independent witnesses. He hit their convoy outside of Milwaukee, neutralized them in minutes, and handed the survivors over in chains to the PRT.

They say Bonesaw’s equipment was destroyed, Siberian was 'dispersed,' and Crawler is in containment. Alexandria and Legend arrived to take them to the Birdcage

What the actual hell.

(Showing page 1 of 1000)

►Thinkthank

Replied On Nov 9th 2010:

This is huge. Behemoth last week, now the Nine? Superman is single-handedly rewriting the rules of cape warfare.

►Cryabout1t

Replied On Nov 9th 2010:

I don’t care how shiny the guy looks, but this worries me. What happens when the world realizes the PRT can’t even pretend to be the top dog anymore? Protectorate’s already a joke compared to this guy.

►Buggedout

Replied On Nov 9th 2010:

Are you KIDDING ME?? Jack Slash is GONE. Siberian is GONE. The literal boogeymen of every city’s worst-case file just got erased in minutes. Superman is the best thing that’s ever happened to this planet.

►Insideman

Replied On Nov 9th 2010:

Witness report: he caught Siberian by the throat, and she flickered out.

►doctorman

Replied On Nov 9th 2010:

No. Wait. If Siberian was a projection, and he shut it down, that means he knows exactly how her power worked. Nobody else has figured that out in years. That’s terrifying and impressive in equal measure.

►Widow's Kiss (Cape Wife)

Replied On Nov 9th 2010:

This is the first time in a decade I’ve felt safe walking outside my door. I don’t care if Superman’s not part of the Protectorate. I don’t care if he’s not “our” hero. He’s the hero.

►Herolover (Cape Groupie)

Replied On Nov 9th 2010:

Word is the Nine didn’t even have time to scatter. Superman just… appeared in front of them mid-march and took them apart one by one. I don’t think he even bled.

►Acree

Replied On Nov 9th 2010:

Superman’s got a perfect record so far. Behemoth down. Nine down. That’s not luck. That’s power on a scale nobody’s seen before.

►Mac's Dual Rocket Propelled Grenades

Replied On Nov 9th 2010:

If Superman can do all this… what’s he going to do about the Endbringers? All of them? And Scion?

End of Page.   1, 2, 3 ... 998, 999, 1000

(Showing page 2 of 1000)

►Good Ship Morpheus

Replied On Nov 9th 2010:

Superman saved my cat from a tree : )

ALL HAIL SUPERMAN!

►XxVoid_CowboyxX (Banned)

Replied On Nov 9th 2010:

What if he's an alien from another world sent here rk conquer us and form a mighty harem?

►Mane Magenta

Replied On Nov 9th 2010:

And theres Void with the dumbest take of the year.

I'm going to throw a BBQ yall in honor of Superman. Supes, if you're reading this, you're invited!

Edit:

HE ACTUALLY SHOWED UP?! What a class act, he said my cheesesteaks were the best he’s ever had. 

End of Page.   1, 2, 3, 4 ... 998, 999, 1000

Chapter Text

The Hall of Justice didn’t feel like itself. Usually, the building was a theater of motion, flashing badges, busy aides, and a tide of people moving from one diagram of a crisis to the next. Today it was subdued, like the air had been drawn out of the place. Reporters still swarmed the steps outside hoping to catch a glance of the heroes who called it home, but the halls inside were quiet, too quiet.

Lois Lane’s sneakers squeaked sharp against polished marble as she strode past security. She didn’t flash her Daily Planet credentials, and she didn’t bother with her usual smirk or excuses. The guards knew better than to stop a Pulitzer-winning news reporter, even if they did work with several heroes. 

Besides, she wasn’t here for a social visit. 

Clark was gone.

Not ‘on a special assignment,’ not ‘caught in traffic and spilled all of the coffee.’ He just vanished, with no note, and no explanation. That wasn’t him. Clark Kent was the kind of man who left little messages on napkins if he thought he’d be late for dinner. Disappearing wasn’t in his nature. The last thing she heard from him was about a routine patrol to investigate one of Lex Luthor’s leftover warehouses and then nothing. 

Clark had disappeared. 

She hated how those words made her chest tighten. It scared her, Lois hated admitting that, even in her own head, but it was the truth. Thankfully, Clark and Kendra had already given Lois a tour of the Hall of Justice, newly built by Maxwell Lord. 

Lois pushed through into one of the strategy rooms, with the familiar whir of T-Spheres drawing her eye.  Mr. Terrific, was already there, blue light from his drones painting him in geometric patterns. He didn’t look surprised to see her behind his T-shaped mask. 

“You again, huh?” Terrific said, his voice as calm as ever. 

Lois crossed her arms, staring him down as she leaned against the table. “Don’t act like you weren’t expecting me, the walk in was almost too smooth. Where is he?”

Terrific adjusted something on his wrist, and the spheres reconfigured into a wireframe of the warehouse Clark had gone to. “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.”

Lois swallowed hard but didn’t let her voice shake. “Did you find something?”

“What do you think?” He snarked as if the question was an insult against his genius. Okay, maybe it was. Lois took a step forward as the holograms started to form. 

“Residual dimensional energy.” Terrific said at last. The hologram flickered with crystalline distortions radiating out from the center of the building. “Someone opened a rift, and Clark was inside when it happened. Your boyfriend seems to be addicted to being stranded in other dimensions.”

For one second, the floor felt like it dropped beneath her. A rift and another dimension. Any normal person would hear that and think dead, but she knew Clark. He’d survived everything this world had thrown at him and more.

“So he’s not gone.” The words came out firmer than she felt. “He’s alive.”

Lois leaned on the table, fists pressed against the cold steel. Relief bled into frustration, into the hot burn of anger. Lex. Of course it was Lex. He’d pulled something, and Clark had walked right into it.

She forced herself upright, spine straight, voice like steel. “Then stop wasting time explaining and start finding him. I don’t care how many universes you have to scan. You’ve got the brains so do it! We’re bringing him back.”

“It’s not that simple!” Terrific rolled his eyes as he moved his fingers, commanding the T-Spheres. “The last time one of these opened, Luthor nearly split all of Metropolis in half. I was able to fix that of course, but I’d rather not cause so much damage that’ll make Maxwell Lord slice my budget in half to pay for everything. We’re going to do this the right way.” 

Equations spiraled across the hologram, incomprehensible but alive with promise. Lois clenched her arms around herself, the weight of it all pressing down.

“As much as I hate to say it, someone’s going to have to go through the portal with a communicator to the other side, so we can have a strong enough signal to open a portal.” Mr. Terrific’s impassive face remained focused on the holograms. “We have no idea where he’ll be in that dimension, so we need someone who’ll be able to track him dowm.” 

Lois’ throat went dry. A volunteer mission into God-knows-where, with Clark already missing on the other side. She didn’t have to ask who Terrific was thinking of sending, the Justice Gang, the heavy hitters, the ones with enough powers to maybe survive a trip across universes. Well, maybe more Green Lantern than Hawkgirl, even if he was an asshole. 

But she wasn’t going to wait politely while they held another committee meeting about it.

“I’ll go.” Lois said, before the thought even cooled in her brain.

Terrific actually stopped typing mid-command, the holograms flickering. His mask didn’t move, but his head tilted just enough that she could imagine the incredulous look underneath. “No, absolutely not.”

Lois leaned forward across the table, meeting him glare for glare. “You just said you need someone to make contact with a new dimension. Someone to find him. What? Don’t look at me like that!” 

Terrific sighed, dragging a hand across the console. “This isn’t a byline, Lane. This is cross-dimensional physics. Radiation, collapse points. I don’t even know if a human body can make the jump intact without protective-”

She cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. “Save me the science lecture, T. Clark is out there. He’s alive, and I’m not going to sit on the sidelines while you play lab rat with his life.”

“Still a no.” Terrific’s T-Spheres whirred as they pulled up layers of data, equations spilling across the table. Lois paced across the room, arms with her crossed and her pulse still racing from the word dimension. 

“Alright.” Terrific muttered as he stared at several math equations. “I can stabilize a tether long enough for one person to cross. Two if I overclock the T-Spheres, but the margin of error gets dangerous. We’ll need-”

“Backup.” Lois cut in. There was only one person she knew who was as strong as Clark. 

T raised a brow. “Are you volunteering again? Cause I already said no.”

Lois shook her head. “Not me this time, I mean Kara and Krypto.”

Terrific stopped, lips pressing into a thin line. “Supergirl the drunk and the stupid dog.”

“Not just a dog, a Kryptonian dog.” Lois leaned against the table, her voice sharp but steady. “You said this yourself, this isn’t safe. You want someone who can actually take a hit if things go wrong? Kara can handle herself, even if she has a lot and I mean a lot of issues, she’s his family. And Krypto…” Her throat caught for just a second before she forced it out. “Krypto will never stop looking until he finds Clark. He’ll tear the universe apart if it means getting him back.”

The T-Spheres hovered closer, scanning her as if to measure the conviction in her words. Terrific rubbed his chin, considering.

“They’re both unpredictable variables.” He finally said. “Supergirl I can account for, but a Kryptonian dog in a collapsing dimensional corridor?”

Lois stepped in, eyes narrowed. “You want to find Clark? Then you trust the people who love him as much as I do. That’s not a variable, Terrific, that’s your anchor.”

For a long moment, silence hung heavy between them, broken only by the hum of Terrific’s machines. Then one of the T-Spheres pinged affirmatively. Terrific sighed.

“Fine, but if the dog slobbers on my equipment you’re paying for it.” Terrific looked away, turning to his supercomputer. “Supergirl’s a half galaxy away, it’ll take some time for her to get a message, weeks or even months.” 

Lois almost smiled. “I can handle that.” 

“How’s that?” Terrific sighed. “Even with government satellites she might not even get it-” 

“KAARRAAAAAA! KRYPTOOOOOO!” Lois started to yell, startling Mr. Terrific. 

“Are you out of your goddam mind?” He rolled his eyes. “Keep it down or Lantern’s going to come and bug us. I don’t need him getting cereal all over my stuff!”  

Lois flashed him a toothy grin. 

This was going to work. 

The neon sky of Talok IV shimmered with colors too loud for sober eyes. Twin moons hung swollen above the horizon, their light bending through the haze of smog and refracting in the puddles of spilled drink along the cantina floor. The place reeked of cheap synth-ale, fried protein slabs, and bad decisions.

Kara Zor-El sat slouched over a cracked table, nursing a glass of something purple that fizzed faintly when it touched the rim. Her jacket was half-off her shoulders, boots kicked up on the chair opposite her. The other patrons, mercs, traders, and a few smugglers knew better than to bother her. They’d all heard the rumors. Drunk or not, the blonde in the cape could punch a starship in half if she wanted.

Kara let the liquor burn down her throat, dulling the edges. Sadly, Talok IV did not have a red sun, but the alcohol still burned.  Being a hero was exhausting, and right now she didn’t want to be Supergirl. She wanted to forget, forget about Krypton, and forget about all of the expectations everyone put on her. 

Krypto, sprawled under the table at her boots, gave a soft whine. His ears twitched with nose flaring. Kara nudged him lazily with her boot.

“Relax, boy. No one’s dumb enough to start a fight with us tonight.”

But then, the sound hit her.

Kara’s head snapped up, glass shattering in her grip as her fingers crushed it without thinking.

“...Kara… Krypto… ”

A woman’s voice, faint but urgent, calling her name like a lifeline through a storm.

Lois , her cousin’s girlfriend. 

Kara’s vision blurred, but not from the drink. Even halfway across the galaxy, she still heard her. Huh? What did that nice lady want? 

It was threading straight into her, raw and impossible, carried through bonds stronger than distance. She staggered to her feet, chair clattering to the ground. Krypto barked once, sharp, ears erect and his tail stiffened as he growled, then howled to the ceiling as if to answer the call.

The cantina went silent. Every eye turned toward the girl in the cape and the glowing dog at her side. Kara’s eyes flared blue, brighter than the neon signs. She didn’t need to hear it twice. Kara knew something had happened to Kal-El. Why else would they be calling her? 

“C’mon, boy.” Her voice cracked, fierce and determined all at once. “Bitch needs us.”

Good thing the Green Lanterns don’t check for drinking and flying. 

A/N

Now this was reallly fun to write.

Chapter Text

The room smelled of rust, sweat, and hopelessness.

Raquel had stopped counting the days. Time bled together in that windowless box, where the only light came from a crooked fluorescent tube buzzing overhead. It flickered like the heartbeat of a dying star, giving the women just enough illumination to see each other’s fear. At least two dozen women, as young as elementary aged girls and as old as her own Abuela were imprisoned down here. 

The kidnappers, men with dragon tattoos and knives that glimmered like teeth, came and went whenever they pleased. They didn’t speak much English, but they didn’t need to. Their laughter, the barked orders, the casual threats, all of it carried across language, and the rules were simple, keep quiet, obey, and don’t try to run.

Raquel had tried to run once. Her cheek still bore the scar from the blow that had followed. The pain in her stomach was worse, these gangsters only gave them enough food to make them even more hungry. Nights were spent groaning about the pain, hoping that they weren’t chosen to go upstairs to entertain their captors. Two young girls had gotten pregnant that way, they were never seen again. As usual, their cage was filled with tears from the yellows. Raquel didn’t speak Chinese, so she didn’t know them.  

She just laid on the ground, her face blank and void of emotion. It was just as loud tonight, women who had been beated moaning in pain, and newly captived crying in their sleep. 

This night however, the silence was broken by a distant sound. Not heavy boots, nor the metallic click of a key in the lock. No, this was something else, something dangerous. 

A rumble, low and deep, like the earth itself growling.

The women froze. Some whimpered. One began to pray under her breath, clutching at the rosary hidden in her blouse, hidden from the eyes of their captives. 

At first, Raquel thought it was just her imagination, the door rattling against its frame, the distant sound of shouting, but the shouts grew louder, closer and gunfire erupted, deafening in the concrete walls, followed by a crash that rattled dust from the rafters. 

Her heart leapt. The Chinos that guarded them were soldiers who thought themselves invincible. Who could fight them like this? Were they finally being saved? 

The door slammed open and the light flooded in, nearly blinding Raquel. 

A man filled the frame, backlit by the hallway lights. No, it wasn’t a man, he was too broad, and too impossibly tall. His cape billowed behind him, scorched at the edges, and his eyes glowed faintly red, fading as he stepped inside, like dying embers cooling into steel blue. 

Superman .

The word formed in her mind with the awe of a prayer. What was he doing here? Shouldn't he be busy fighting more Endbringers? 

The gangsters weren’t far behind him. Four of them came behind him, screaming curses and their rifles raised at him, into the room. Raquel had a single second to panic, then the rifles roared. The muzzle flashes lit the room like a strobe, deafening cracks echoing against the walls.

But the bullets never reached her or the other women. 

Superman moved like no one should. Faster than thought, faster than a speeding bullet. A hand swept up, and the rounds sparked harmlessly against his palm. He didn’t even flinch, instead stepped forward once, twice, and the gunmen were gone, no, not gone, disarmed, and sprawled unconscious on the floor. She hadn’t even seen him cross the distance, it was like he hadn’t even touched them. 

Then the room fell silent again. Silent, except for the shuddering breaths of the women inside.

Superman turned to them.

“You’re safe now.” His voice was warm and steady, impossibly calm, as if nothing could shake him. It washed over them like sunlight after a storm. Raquel wouldn’t notice till later that he had spoken in perfect Spanish, without an accent. 

For the first time in months, she believed the words. 

She tried to stand, but her knees gave out. Yet, even with tears blurring her vision, hot and sudden, Raquel did not fall to the ground. Impossibly strong arms gently grabbed her. Superman carefully laid her on the ground, removing his red cape to cushion her head. Around her, others broke down too, sobs, laughter, the raw sound of hope resurfacing after being buried alive. One woman clutched her child close, whispering thank-yous over and over. Another simply pressed her forehead to the ground, overcome with emotions.

Superman didn’t recoil. He didn’t stand apart, distant and untouchable like the capes she’d seen on television. He knelt in front of a child, captured just a week ago. Superman knelt so his eyes were level with hers, so that when he spoke again, he was not a god looking down on mortals but a man offering his hand.

“No one will hurt you again.” He said softly. “I promise.”

And promises from him felt like truths carved into stone.

He broke their chains with a casual flex of his fingers, the metal snapping like dry twigs. He lifted one woman too weak to stand, carrying her as though she weighed nothing at all. Another he supported gently by the arm.

The stronger ones crowded around him, trying to touch him, as if he was a god. 

When Raquel hesitated, still too afraid to move, afraid this was a dream, afraid she’d wake up back in the dark, Superman simply smiled. A small, patient smile, meant just for her as she laid on his cape like a blanket. 

Officers bursted into the room, assiting the others and taking the women that was in Superman’s arms, carried on stretcher. Still, the Man of Steel did not leave. 

“It’s okay.” Superman murmured as he helped her to his feet. “You’re free.”

The words shattered the last of her paralysis. With his help, she stumbled forward, into the light, into freedom.

The hallway beyond was chaos, broken weapons, crumpled men in handcuffs, the marks of battle etched into the walls. Superman was untouched, as if he was invincible. 

Behind the walls, sirens wailed, and when she stepped outside, BBPD vans screeched to a stop, with boots pounding as officers poured in, but for her, none of that mattered. All she saw was the man who had come when no one else had.

Later, she would struggle to describe it. The impossible speed, the invincibility, the presence that filled the air and made the world feel safe again. Words failed. The only way she could capture it was the same way she thought of it that night, kneeling on the floor with tears in her eyes.

He was a prayer answered.

Superman .

The night air outside the warehouse was damp and heavy with salt from the Bay. Red-and-blue lights pulsed against the concrete, painting the chaos in strobe. Medics rushed past with stretchers, BBPD officers cordoned off the area, and reporters shouted from behind barricades.

Amy slipped around the corner into an alley that smelled faintly of oil and wet brick. Her gloves fumbled as she pulled the crumpled cigarette pack from her pocket. Her hands still stank faintly of blood and antiseptic, two dozen bodies, two dozen scans, bone fractures knitted back together, bruises erased, infections cauterized. She’d pushed herself too far again, but the BBPD had called in a favor after Clark demolished five ABB brothel in a single night. They had even called in the PRT to have more bodies on the ground.  

The lighter flared, briefly illuminating her tired face before she dragged in a lungful of smoke. The burn grounded her, harsh and bitter, cutting through the static that always built up when she worked too long. Amy held the smoke in her lungs as long as she could before exhaling. Thankfully no one would notice her here. 

“Those things will kill you, you know.”

Amy stiffened, she shouldn’t have jinxed it. The voice wasn’t Victoria’s nagging accent, it was deeper and calmer. She turned and saw him step into the mouth of the alley, his red cape trailing just enough to stir the cigarette smoke.

“Pretty sure lung cancer’s not my biggest problem.” Amy muttered, exhaling a thin stream toward the pavement. “Don’t you have a press conference to attend? Or more people to save?”

Clark smiled faintly, not offended. “Not tonight. Tonight I wanted to check on my friend.”

Amy scoffed. “Some friend. You don’t want to see what my head looks like right now. Not even with your, what is it, X-ray vision?” 

Clark leaned lightly against the wall, his hands loose at his sides, and his voice quiet enough that it felt like the words were meant only for her. “You’d be surprised what I can hear. What I can’t shut out.”

Amy frowned. “Your hearing thing, right? Victoria mentioned it once, it sounds like hell.”

The two had found him when he was first stranded in this world, and sworn to secrecy. Vicky was paid off with the promise of brand new comic-books from his world. Amy didn’t need anything. 

Clark nodded. “It was, at first. Imagine never being alone, hearing every cry, every heartbeat, every whispered thought between two people across a city, you hear all of it. The first time I realized what I could do, I almost broke down. I couldn’t make it stop.” His gaze softened, eyes turned upward as if watching memories ripple in the sky. “But I learned something. You can’t block it out completely, all you can do is choose what to focus on. Who to focus on.”

Ah, he was talking about her problem with skin-to-skin contact. Did he notice her earlier? Of course he did, Clark always saw everything. 

Either that or Vicky told him, which she sincerelt doubted. He probably used those reporter powers from his world.   

Amy took another drag, but her hands trembled. “And how the hell am I supposed to do that? I don’t get a dial I can turn down. It’s just pain everywhere. A cancer here, a clogged artery there, someone’s kidney failing. And I’m supposed to just…not help? People need me.”

Clark’s eyes met hers, unwavering but kind. “I hear suffering too, all the time, and I want to fix it all, but I can’t. No one can. The trick isn’t to ignore it, it’s to accept that helping one person matters. That saving one life is still worth it, even when you can’t save them all.”

Her cigarette burned low, ash dropping onto her boot. Amy stared at him, the words biting because they rang too true. She swallowed, voice raw. “It never feels like enough.”

Carol always said that too, that Amy was blessed with a gift that needed to be shared. 

Clark’s voice lowered further, nearly a whisper, but steady as bedrock. “It never will, but enough isn’t the point. The point is that someone is alive tomorrow because of you. That’s what I tell myself. That’s what keeps me from drowning in the noise.”

Amy’s throat tightened. She dropped the cigarette, crushed it under her heel, and pressed her gloved hands against her temples. For a moment, she hated him for making it sound so simple. For a longer moment, she felt the weight ease, just slightly, like she wasn’t the only one carrying it.

Clark stepped closer, his presence more grounding than the smoke had been. “You don’t have to do this alone, Amy. None of us do.”

Amy stared at him for a few seconds before rolling her eyes and raising her cigarette to her lips. It never made contact as she felt a sudden chill and the cig went cold, frozen on the tip. She gave Clark a sharp glare, who gave her a large grin. 

“I really hate your boy scout routine sometimes.”  

A/N

Time for the start of the Amy arc.

Chapter Text

The hospital smelled of antiseptic and desperation. Amy’s gloves were already damp with sweat beneath the endless parade of patients. The triage ward had overflowed hours ago, stretchers lining the walls, families pressed against each other in the hallway, forming a tide of groans and clipped voices that never slowed down. This was the Brockton Bay standard, even with Superman present. Whenever the news showed him at the other side of the world, the gangs acted. 

Every hand she touched carried something. Torn ligaments, fractured ribs, infections too far gone for antibiotics but easy for her to burn out in seconds. The trick was not to think about it, not to see the body as a person, but just as a machine with broken parts she could fix. In and out, move on, and don’t dwell.

Amy’s throat burned from lack of water. Her stomach cramped, had she eaten today? Yesterday? She couldn’t remember. The static in her head built with each scan, each touch, the compulsion screaming louder, fix this too, fix them all, don’t stop.

“Panacea, we’ve got another one!” A nurse pushed a gurney forward, a young boy clutching his abdomen, blood soaking through the sheets. The nurses never said thank you anymore, just next, next, next.

She set her hands down on his side after removing her gloves, forcing herself to focus. He had a ruptured spleen and would bleed out in minutes if she didn’t-

A tray of something warm slid into her peripheral vision. The scent, bread, herbs, something real, cut straight through the haze of copper and antiseptic. Her nose twitched and Amy froze. Her hands still touched the boy as his organs began to knit together, then she finally looked up.

Clark stood there, tray balanced casually in one hand like he belonged in the chaos of the ward. His cape was folded back, and he wore a surgical gown over his costume with his eyes as calm as ever. He looked completely at ease, as if the groans and blood and panic weren’t trying to drown them both.

“You’ve been at this for fourteen hours,” Clark said, voice low enough that only she could hear. “You need to eat, now.”

Amy bristled, anger started to rise within her. “People are dying, I don’t have time for a-”

“They’ll still be here after you finish one plate.” Clark nudged the tray closer. A thermos of soup, half a loaf of bread, he even had a chocolate bar tucked on the edge. “You’ll heal better with steady hands than shaky ones.”

Amy almost snapped at him, the protest half-formed on her tongue, but her stomach answered first, growling loud enough that the nurse shot her a look. She muttered something obscene under her breath, and stormed off, with the Man of Steel following like a mother hen. 

“Fine, but only ten minutes.”

Clark’s smile was small but genuine. “That’s all I ask.”

Carol was going to be so pissed if she found out. 

The roof was quiet compared to the storm below. Ambulance sirens wailed faintly in the distance, but up here the night carried only the salty breeze from the Bay and the hum of city lights.

Amy sat cross-legged on the gravel near the edge, balancing the tray Clark had shoved into her hands. She tore into the herb covered bread first, chewing like she was daring him to comment on her manners, but he didn’t. Clark just leaned against the ledge, his cape draped over one shoulder, sipping from the thermos like it was coffee instead of soup.

“Don’t suppose you spiked that with whiskey?” Amy muttered, swallowing hard.

Clark chuckled. “Sorry. Just chicken noodle soup, Taylor made it for me, as a thank you.”

Amy rolled her eyes, but her second bite was bigger than the first. That was the locker girl, who had sliced up her hands and hsd at least a dozen different infections. For a long minute, they ate in silence, broken only by the crunch of gravel under Clark’s boots as he shifted to sit beside her.

When her stomach stopped growling loud enough to be embarrassing, Amy nudged him with her elbow. She didn’t like awkward silences. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who listens to music. Probably just NPR and weather reports.”

“Not even close.” Clark smiled at her sideways. “Where I’m from, I had a whole collection of vinyl. Classic rock, some Motown…and punk, that was my favorite.”

Amy nearly choked on her soup. “Punk? No way. You look like you listen to country music, or opera.”

“Way.” Clark grinned. “There was this band back home, The Mighty Crabjoys. Absolute chaos. They’d smash their own instruments before the encore, but their lyrics…” He shook his head, fondness creeping into his voice. “They’re loud, raw, and honest. It was like someone bottled up frustration with the world and set it to a guitar riff.”

Amy blinked. She’d never heard of them,.of course she hadn’t, this wasn’t his Earth, but the way he said it reminded her of the times she’d hidden in her room with earbuds jammed in, letting the angry guitar drown out Carol’s lectures and the weight of her power.

“Okay,” Amy admitted slowly, “that’s respectable I guess. Better than Vicky’s garbage bubblegum playlists.”

“Don’t tell her.” Clark smirked. “She’ll make me listen to it during patrols, but I like some of those too.” 

Amy snorted, a sound halfway between a laugh and a scoff. It felt strange in her throat. She reached into her pocket, shaking out another cigarette. Her lighter was halfway up before a gust of wind tugged it right out of her hand. The cig vanished a second later, tossed neatly into a trash bin on the far corner of the roof.

Amy gawked at him. “Are you serious?”

Clark’s face was perfectly calm, but his eyes twinkled. “Dead serious. Those things don’t go well with soup.”

She groaned, dragging her gloved hands down her face. “I hate you sometimes.”

“No, you don’t.” He nudged the chocolate bar toward her. “Eat that instead, it’ll last longer than the cigarette.”

Amy glared at him for a full five seconds before tearing the wrapper open with her teeth. The chocolate melted instantly on her tongue. Damn him, he was right again.

Clark leaned back, eyes scanning the city skyline like he was taking it all in at once. “See? Feel better now?” 

Amy didn’t answer, but for once, she didn’t feel like arguing either. She toyed with the chocolate wrapper as it melted in her mouth,  her shoulders drawn in like she was trying to make herself smaller.

“You know.” She muttered suddenly, eyes fixed on the skyline. “When we first met, I hated you.”

Clark blinked, then let out a low chuckle. “I’m starting to notice that’s the common first impression I make around here.” What a bold lie, everyone loved him. 

“I mean it.” Amy’s tone was sharp, though not quite aimed at him. “You were too…everything. Too clean, too good and too damned perfect. Everyone was falling over themselves to talk about the big hero from another world, and Vicky-” Amy’s voice dripped with bitterness, “-Vicky couldn’t shut up about how ‘amazing’ you were. ‘Clark did this. Superman did that.’ Like you were some golden standard none of us could ever touch.”

Especially after he defeated Behemoth in single combat, smashing him into the ground and then launching him into the sky. That wasn’t even mentioning his almost casual defeat of the Nine. What was next? He’ll push Ashbeast out of its path whenever needed? 

Clark didn’t rush her. He just sat there like always, quiet and steady, like he had all the time in the world. That was the worst part, he always made silence feel safe, when she was used to it being unbearable.

Finally, Amy muttered,.“You make it sound easy. Like I can just switch it off. Be Amy again, but I can’t. People don’t want Amy. They want Panacea, the healer, the miracle machine, the one who never stops.”

Clark’s gaze softened. “That’s not all you are. You’re more than what they ask of you.”

Amy barked a sharp laugh. “Yeah? Tell that to the families screaming at me when I can’t bring their kid back. Tell that to the hospitals who treat me like free labor. Tell it to my Mom-” She bit off the word, jaw tightening and looked away. “They don’t care about Amy. They never did.”

Clark didn’t argue. He just leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Maybe they don’t, but I do.”

Amy's head whipped toward him, her glare sharp enough to cut. “Don’t say that.”

“I mean it.” He said, steady as stone. “I don’t see Panacea when I look at you. I don’t see the miracle worker. I see a girl who’s exhausted, hurting, and still keeps showing up. I see Amy, and Amy matters just as much as the powers do.”

Amy’s throat worked, but no sound came. For a moment she looked like she might snap at him, bite back with something cruel to protect herself, but it didn’t come. The words stuck, tangled up with the ache behind her ribs.

“You don’t get it.” She whispered finally. “If I stop, people die.” And then Amy would start thinking about how she really feels for Vicky. No, she needed to keep busy. 

Clark nodded slowly. “I do get it. More than you think. I’ve had days where I could hear ten thousand people crying for help at once. I couldn’t save them all. Not even me, but I learned that saving one person still matters. Taking one breath for yourself still matters too. Because if you burn yourself out, Amy, who saves the next person?”

Amy stared at him, lips pressed thin. His words sank in like saltwater into a wound, stinging because deep inside, she knew they were true.

She sighed softly. “You really are impossible.”

Clark gave a small smile. “I get that a lot.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy this time. Amy leaned back on her palms, shoulders slumping in a way that almost looked like relief. For once, she let herself sit in it. The city lights stretched below, broken and battered but still shining.

When she finally spoke again, her voice was quieter, almost raw. “I don’t hate you anymore, Clark, but I don’t forgive you either. Not yet.”

“That’s fair.” He said simply as he finished his soup. “I’ll take what you give.”

Amy blinked at him, startled by the ease in his tone. He didn’t pressure her or demand for more. All he did was accept her. For someone who lived in a world of demands, it was almost unbearable.

Almost.

Clark released a satisfied sigh. “Man, this is some good soup.” 

Idiot. 

A/N

Gotta love writing Clark.

Chapter Text

From the quiet edge of the atmosphere, where the air thinned into a velvet nothing, Clark hovered motionless.

The Earth beneath him turned, a slow and steady dance, oceans glimmering under the touch of sunlight. He should have been colder here, but the sun’s warmth pressed against his skin even across millions of miles. Its rays painted this planet in colors no photograph could ever capture: ocean blues too deep for ink, cloud-washed silvers, and an edge of green that defied every scar of human industry.

This wasn’t his Earth, but that didn’t make it any less beautiful. 

The blues were different here, a shade sharper, almost brittle. Cloud bands hung lower, dragging their shadows over coastlines etched by storms fiercer than the ones he remembered. Bays bore scars, cliffs slumped like old wounds, oceans swirled in patterns that felt slightly wrong. Whoever had drawn this world’s map had done it with teeth and rain.

And yet, when sunlight struck her skin, the planet glowed like a promise. Rivers turned gold, mountain peaks gleamed white, and thunderheads piled into towers that looked like cities in the sky. Even in all its brokenness, the world shone defiantly. This world was beautiful nonetheless. 

Clark let his gaze wander. He had learned long ago to love the details. A fishing trawler rocking in the North Atlantic, nets trailing like silver threads. A desert storm carving across Africa, lightning blooming in sheets, dazzling even from here. In the high steppes of Asia, a shepherd guided his flock, a single heartbeat against the immensity of earth and sky. Every moment whispered life goes on.

But the differences pressed against him, unavoidable. Here, satellites were fewer, their signals crude and patchy, some broken entirely. The air carried more pollutants, heavier and clinging; the rivers ran darker near their mouths. Technology lagged decades behind what his own world had achieved, and fear lingered in the air like an unwashed film. Hearts beat faster here, breaths shorter, nerves closer to breaking

Still, life endured. He tuned his hearing, letting the world’s voice reach him.

A child laughing as she splashed in a puddle. A baker humming an old song while kneading bread. Lovers whispering promises in the dark. The hush of a thousand prayers, whispered in Spanish, in Hindi, in tongues Clark didn’t know but somehow understood. Humanity, fragile and fierce, filled every silence.

In Brazil, a boy strummed a guitar on a back porch, singing in a voice rough but full of joy. In Lagos, an old man recited poetry to a classroom, words rolling like waves against the eager silence of his students. In Paris, a woman whispered prayers at a graveside, thanking the Lord for a life cut short but still cherished. In Mumbai, a child’s scream cut through traffic as she fell into the street. 

Clark was already on the move, flying as fast as he could. The streets of Mumbai unfolded beneath him in blurs of color and noise. He spotted the child, frozen in the middle of the road, horns blaring as a bus swerved too late. In less than a heartbeat, Clark had her cradled in his arms as the bus sped past. 

“Heya! You’re safe now.” Clark gave her a toothy grin. “Be careful next time.”

The girl blinked up at him, tears trembling at the edges of her eyes before wonder replaced fear. He smiled gently, setting her back into her mother’s arms. The woman gasped his name in awe. 

“Superman!” Her voice was raw, shaking, but filled with relief. Clark simply nodded, then rose back into the sky before the crowd could gather to stare at him in awe. 

He still had more work to do. 

A fire raged in Chile, so Clark dove down, carving tunnels of wind with his flight to blow flames back and give firefighters a chance, using his ice breath to form a line. An avalanche tumbled through the Alps, so he braced himself against the falling snow, carving a break to shield a buried village. 

When Clark finally rose again above the clouds, night had begun to crawl across one half of the globe. Cities glittered like nets of stars, bound in highways of light, while the countryside dimmed into patchwork shadows.

It was fragile, this world. Its people lived under weight he hadn’t known elsewhere, corruption, gangs, parahumans who treated power as tyranny. It was worse than his world, it even made Gotham look like a place to go on vacation. He had seen girls stuffed into cages, men gunned down in alleys, whole neighborhoods abandoned by those sworn to protect them. And yet, humanity still endured. 

They always did.

Every kindness he overheard reminded him, the nurse soothing a crying child with a lullaby, the neighbor sharing half a loaf with someone who had none, the strangers pulling rubble away with bare hands before he could even arrive.

Clark took a deep breath letting the air fill his lungs as the sun’s rays shined over him. This world was broken, scarred, and afraid, but it was also alive, defiant, and unyielding. Yet, even if its people gave up, even if they decided to stop fighting. 

It would still be worth saving.

The ocean stretched wide beneath him as he cut through the clouds, the familiar salt-stained wind of Brockton Bay rolling up to meet him. Its skyline was jagged and tired, warehouses and smoke stacks jutting into the gray. Even from miles up, Clark could hear the heartbeats of its inhabitants, fast, anxious, and alive. The city wasn’t pretty, but it was stubborn. That stubbornness reminded him of Kansas in its own way, of places that refused to die no matter how much the world piled on them.

A ripple of wind brushed his shoulder. He turned his head, and there she was, Victoria, streaking in alongside him. Her hair streamed golden behind her, her costume catching the sunlight, and with a grin wide and unbothered.

She reminded him of a sober Kara. 

“You didn’t even say hi.” She called over the wind, her voice bright and teasing. “Flying over my city and not checking in? Rude.”

Clark smiled faintly. “I figured you’d find me anyway.”

“Damn right.” She flipped mid-air, floating upside down beside him just to show off. “Hard not to notice a red cape cutting across the whole sky. You stick out more than a spotlight.”

Clark glanced down at the patchwork streets below. “People should see me. If it reminds them they’re not alone, then it’s worth it.”

Victoria rolled her eyes with mock exasperation. “Always with the boy scout lines. I swear, you and Amy-” She cut herself off with a grin. “Speaking of, have you checked on her lately?”

Clark’s expression softened. “Yeah, on the  roof of the Brockton Bay General Hospital. Made her eat something.”

Vicky laughed, sharp and delighted. “God, I’d pay money to see her face when you pulled the dad routine on her.”

“She needed it.” Clark said simply, steady as stone. “And sometimes you’ll need it too.” 

Their family situation was rather sad, in Clark’s opinion. The Dallon-Pelham families formed the superhero group New Wave, allied but unaffiliated with the Protectorate, and the little digging he had done explained a lot. Though, it didn’t take a genius that Amy was adopted, and that Victoria’s Aura field of emotions was unhealthy. Thankfully, Clark remained unaffected somehow.  

Vicky only stuck her tongue out in response. 

For a moment, the two of them just flew in silence, wingtip to wingtip above the broken sprawl of the Bay. The air tasted of salt and ash, but the sunlight caught on the waves, turning them silver.

It was beautiful. 

Victoria’s voice softened, losing some of its usual brightness. “You like it here, don’t you?”

Clark let his gaze sweep the horizon again, the rusted docks, the smoke curling from distant factories, and the tiny shapes of people moving like sparks of life.

“It’s not my home.” He admitted, “But it’s still beautiful. Even the broken parts, maybe especially the broken parts. Imperfections are what makes us human.” Ironic, considering he was one of the few beings on the planet that wasn’t. 

The wind curled around them as they drifted lower, skimming above the ragged line of the shoreline. Clark kept his pace steady and measured, just fast enough that the cityscape blurred beneath them, but slow enough that Victoria could match him without strain.

She was quiet for longer than he expected, her usual chatter absent. Vicky had that far-off look, the one he’d seen before when she tried to mask the weight of responsibility under brightness.

“You know.” She finally said, her voice softer than the rushing wind, “-Before you showed up, I thought I had this whole protector gig figured out. Me and Amy, we…we had our rhythm. She’d heal, I’d fight, and between us we’d hold the city together, since the rest of my family is semi-retired.” Her laugh was short, sharp. “Then you dropped out of the sky and suddenly the whole balance changed.”

Clark glanced at her. “Changed for the worse?”

Vicky tilted her hand, rocking side to side in the air as if weighing invisible scales. “Not exactly. Just…different. You’ve got this way of walking into a room and making everyone else feel small. Not because you mean to, I know that, but because, hell, you’re Superman. How do you even compete with that?”

He didn’t answer right away, instead Clrk looked down, watching the flickering lights of Brockton Bay, each one a window with a story behind it. “You don’t. Compete, I mean. You’re not supposed to. I never wanted that.”

“Yeah, well.” Vicky said, folding her arms mid-air, “Tell that to every cape who’s spent the last few months measuring themselves against you. Amy won’t admit it, but you get under her skin sometimes. And me? I try not to let it show, but sometimes…sometimes it feels like I’ve been benched on my own team.”

Clark’s brow furrowed. He didn’t know she had been feeling that way. “You’ve saved lives here long before I ever set foot in this world. You’ll keep saving them long after I’m gone. That doesn’t change just because I’m here.”

Vicky shot him a side-eye, one eyebrow arched. “And if you’re not gone? What if you stay?”

He didn’t answer right away. The question dug deeper than she knew. The thought of permanence, roots in a world not his own, was something he hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on yet. Clark missed Pa and Ma, Lois, and even Kara and Krypto, though he definitely did not miss those ankle bites. 

Instead, he said gently. “Uf I stay, it’s because this world deserves more people who care about it, and last I checked, that includes you.”

For once, Victoria didn’t have a comeback. She blinked, mouth half-open, then shut it with a quiet huff.

They flew in silence again, the city spreading below them like a fractured mosaic. The docks were a mess of rusted cranes and burned-out warehouses, but people still moved through the streets, carrying groceries, laughing at bus stops, huddling together against the cold wind.

“You really see all that, don’t you?” Vicky asked after a while.

Clark nodded. “Every light, every voice. Beauty doesn’t disappear just because the world is broken. You just have to look harder sometimes.”

Victoria tilted her head, her own eyes scanning the streets below as if trying to borrow his vision for a second. “I think that’s why Amy doesn’t hate you anymore. You make the broken stuff sound worth saving.”

Clark smiled faintly. “That’s because it is.”

Vicky let out a long sigh, then banked upward, pulling a lazy spiral through the clouds before drifting back into formation beside him. “Careful, Clark. Talk like that too much, and people will start believing you’re human.”

Clark’s laugh was quiet, but it carried across the wind between them.

She would make a fine hero. 

A/N

Thanks to everyone who’s been enjoying Kindness is Punk-Rock! I honestly never expected it to do as well as it did, and it makes me glad. 

Here's to more chapters!

Chapter Text

Clark Kent walked Brockton Bay’s cracked sidewalks with his notebook balanced against his palm, the tip of his pen scratching in neat shorthand as he went. His glasses fogged from the sea-salt air, the December cold clinging sharp to his lungs. He could have flown, he could always fly, but walking mattered. It grounded him and it reminded him how people lived here, step by step, in streets that smelled of rust and oil and desperation.

He wasn’t here as Superman. The cape and costume stayed hidden beneath his extremely baggy cheap suit and coat. Today he wore glasses and a tired smile, letting himself fade into the background. People talked to Clark Kent more freely than they ever would to Superman, and that was important. 

The city bore scars. Not just graffiti and broken windows, but wounds deeper than concrete. Row houses leaned at odd angles, their paint long surrendered to salt wind. Docks sagged into black water. Children’s laughter in a playground was drowned out by the crack of a gunshot three blocks away. He had used his X-Ray vision to make sure it wasn’t an attempted murderer, it was just a drunk firing blanks. 

“Does he make you feel safer?” Clark asked the woman at the bakery counter as he munched on a donut, discounted since it was a day old. Clark still paid her the full price of a fresh donut. 

She was still dusted in flour from her morning shift, with lines of fatigue etched deep around her eyes. He had promised her that this interview would be anonymous. The Baker hesitated, then shrugged. “Safer? Maybe, but the ABB doesn’t care if he’s here. They’ll burn another block just to prove they can, and when he leaves…” Her voice broke slightly. “We’re the ones left behind.”

Clark nodded, scribbling shorthand across the margin of his notebook. “So it’s not that you don’t trust him. It’s that you don’t trust what comes after.”

The baker gave him a tired smile, small and apologetic. “Hope doesn’t stick long around here. Not when the gangs decide whose street survives the week.”

He thanked her, left enough cash for another donut, and stepped back into the cold. She was right, Clark couldn’t be everywhere at once. The gangs here in Brockton Bay disappeared as soon as he made his presence known, but acted up once he was spotted elsewhere. The same rhing was happening in his visits to other cities like Los Angeles, New York, Paris and London. 

Across the street, a man in a ragged parka pulled his daughter closer as a pair of ABB enforcers strolled by, tattoos crawling up their necks like fire given form. Clark kept walking, allowing his shoulders to slope, with his notebook held loose in his hand. Today he was just another face in the city.

At the corner, he stopped to jot down the father’s words as they passed in hurried Spanish. ‘Don’t look at them, keep walking. We can’t afford another fight.’

Every voice mattered. Each and every word told a story about what Brockton Bay really lived with.

He turned down another block. The buildings had boarded-up windows gaped like missing teeth. A mural stretched across a half-burned wall, painted in defiance, bright blues and greens spelling out We Endure. Beneath it, kids chalked crude superheroes onto the pavement. Superman’s symbol was there too, crooked but bright, side by side with New Wave’s and the Protectorates crest. 

Clark approached then and crouched down, smiling faintly as he adjusted his glasses and set his notebook against his knee. The chalk drawing sprawled across the cracked sidewalk was crude but earnest, lines wobbling into a figure with a cape and a big S across the chest.

“Who’s that one?” Clark asked gently, nodding toward the drawing.

The boy puffed up proudly, chalk still staining his palms. “That’s Superman! My cousin says he carried a whole bus out of the water last week. Uncle swears he saw it himself.” The boy leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Some people say he can melt guns just by looking at them.”

Clark’s smile widened, but he didn’t correct him. That was true, from a certain point of view. “And what do you think? Does he make the city better?”

The boy hesitated, scuffing his sneaker against the pavement. “The ABB still scares my mom. She says not even Superman can be everywhere. But when he’s flying up there-.” The boy pointed to the sky, his eyes shining.“-it feels like maybe the bad guys won’t win forever. He makes them nervous, and that makes me feel braver too.”

Clark jotted the words down carefully, the pen scratching across the page. He didn’t reveal himself, didn’t break the illusion. Kids deserved their hope unspoiled, so he just nodded, stood, and thanked the boy for talking to him. The chalk S lingered in his mind as he walked on.

It reminded him of the flag in Jarhanpur. 

The Dallon house glowed with lamplight, the warmth spilling across snow-speckled hedges. Standing at the door, Clark’s nose picked up the faint smell of roast chicken and floor polish. He knocked politely, two times. 

Mark was the one who answered, with dark hair and tired eyes. He was shorter than Clark, which he was used to. Most people were shorter than him, even those who were considered tall by most. Finding shoes that fit him was annoying! Jimmy had such a nice shoe collection, while Clark had to be satisfied with whatever fit him. 

“Mark! Buddy! How ya doing man?” Clark grabbed the public hero's hand and pulled him into a hug, which Mark returned. 

“Clark. Good to see you. Come on in, before the neighbors think I’m making you freeze on the doorstep.” Mark chuckled softly. 

Clark adjusted his glasses and gave the man a wry smile. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Cold doesn’t stick the way it should.”

Mark laughed at that, stepping back to let him in. “Still, better manners if you sit inside before Carol starts fussing about drafts.”

The warmth of the house hit Clark instantly, wood polish, dinner almost finished in the oven, and the layered scent of candles lit in an attempt to mask the faint must of old walls. He took a moment to slip his boots off at the door, careful not to track in salt, and with his coat folded neatly over one arm.

Inside, the house was alive in its own way. Victoria’s laugh floated from the dining room, sharp and easy, while Amy’s voice cut in with a dry retort. Eric’s deeper chuckle followed, and Sarah’s gentler tones tried to herd them all into civility.

Clark followed Mark toward the kitchen doorway, catching sight of Carol standing by the counter, her arms folded, her eyes sharp and appraising even before she spoke a word.

Victoria spotted him first and lit up like a lamp. “I told you he’d actually come!” She leapt up from her chair and waved.

Amy barely looked up, muttering, “I still think she bribed him with pie.”

Clark chuckled, setting his glasses back in place. “Not bribed, invited. There’s a difference.”

Neil Pelham clapped him on the shoulder as he guided him toward the dining table. “Well, Clark, welcome to the madhouse. I hope you brought an appetite, Sarah made enough food to feed a small army.” Neil, also known as the hero Manpower, was one of the few people that was taller than Clark, which was a nice change of pace. 

Clark smiled faintly, “After the day I’ve had, that sounds perfect.”

He paused just outside the doorway, letting the room breathe around him before stepping further in. Clark had learned long ago that homes spoke even when their owners didn’t.

The Dallon home carried layers of life. The walls bore family photos in neat frames, Victoria beaming through braces, Amy in a school uniform standing a little apart from the others, Eric with trophies balanced under each arm, and Crystal posing in her costume. Sarah’s paintings dotted the gaps between them, bright colors softening Carol’s sharp lines of furniture. Even the chipped banister along the stairs had a polish to it, as if someone kept sanding and revarnishing, unwilling to let the old wood give up.

He caught details automatically. Mark’s jacket slung haphazardly over a chair, a reminder of someone who meant to hang it but never had the energy. Carol’s shoes were lined in perfect order by the mat, polished and square, no room for sloppiness. Victoria’s coat half-hung and half-fallen from a hook, still dusted with sea salt from the air outside. Amy’s bag was dropped just out of sight by the hall table, heavier than it looked with medical texts poking from its seams.

All of it painted a picture. A family trying to hold together under strain, with warmth threaded through arguments and fatigue.

Clark let himself smile faintly. It reminded him of dinners back in Kansas, where the air was heavy with food and unspoken words alike. Families were never perfect. They weren’t supposed to be.

All they needed to do was try. 

A/N

Some Reporter Clark thangs

Chapter Text

The table was already full when Clark finally settled into his chair, the scent of roast chicken and rosemary rising in comforting waves. Candlelight softened the corners of the dining room, warming the old wood and bright paintings Sarah had likely hung in her sister’s home over the years. Plates clinked, voices overlapped, and the meal carried the pleasant chaos of a family used to being a little too loud for the space they shared.

Clark accepted the serving dish from Neil and helped himself to some roasted potatoes before sliding it down to Victoria, who was already reaching across the table with a grin. She beamed at him like they were co-conspirators.

“See? I told you he eats like a normal person.” She said it loudly enough that everyone caught it.

Amy rolled her eyes, spearing a carrot without looking up. “I’m pretty sure he eats more than a normal person, Vicky.”

“Better more than less.” Neil said with an easy laugh, his broad shoulders shaking. “That means he’s enjoying it.”

Clark chuckled quietly, offering no protest. He’d learned long ago not to argue when families were watching how much you ate. Instead, he lifted his glass in a polite toast to Sarah and Carol, who waved him off with a modest smile but looked pleased nonetheless.

The talk felt like they swirled around him. Eric recounted the last game he’d played, embellishing the score until Sarah corrected him with a fond nudge. Victoria teased her cousin Crystal for being late to the table. Mark tried to keep pace with everyone, chiming in with soft jokes that were often drowned out by the louder voices.

Clark didn’t mind listening. He found the rhythm of it familiar. The Dallons and Pelhams weren’t so different from farm families back home, messy, affectionate, quick to argue and quicker to move on.

Carol, however, sat straighter than the rest, her posture deliberate, her fork movements precise. She asked questions without warmth but also without cruelty, as if every inquiry was a business transaction.

“So, Clark.” she said finally, setting down her glass, “You’ve been spending a lot of time in Brockton Bay, and you’ve certainly drawn plenty of attention.”

The table quieted a little, as though everyone was waiting to see how Clark would respond. He adjusted his glasses and smiled faintly. “Attention comes with the territory. I just try to make sure it’s the right kind.”

Carol’s gaze lingered, assessing, before she returned to her food.

Victoria, never one to let tension sit, leaned forward with a grin. “Forget all that. What I wanna know is, what’s the weirdest thing you’ve eaten? You’ve been everywhere right? Aliens? Space food?”

Clark chuckled, grateful for the shift in the conversation. “Nothing as exciting as that. Though, once in Metropolis, Jimmy dared me to eat one of those fried crickets at a street fair. I didn’t hate it.” Now anchovies, those he hated. 

Victoria’s laughter rang out. “See, Amy? He eats bugs, you eat chocolate, I eat gum, we all balance each other out.”

Amy groaned, covering her face with one hand. “You’re insufferable.”

“True.” Clark said mildly with a smile.“But she’s not wrong about the chocolate.” He slid the dessert plate closer to Amy with a quiet nudge.

That earned him the tiniest flicker of a smile from her before she ducked her head to hide it.

As the meal wore on, Clark listened more than he spoke. He noticed the way Sarah smoothed over rough edges with gentle questions, how Neil’s booming laugh filled silences Carol left behind. He noticed how Mark’s jokes were soft, almost apologetic, but Amy always laughed at them even when no one else did.

And he noticed how Carol spoke to Amy differently than to Victoria, she was measured, restrained, never cruel, but never quite meeting her where she was either. Carol asked about Amy’s schoolwork and rotations at the hospital with the tone of a quarterly report, while Victoria got questions about patrols delivered with sparkle and warmth.

Amy didn’t bristle openly, but Clark caught the stiffness in her shoulders. Carol cared, that much was obvious. She just didn’t quite know how to show it in a way Amy could accept.

Clark made a mental note as he lifted a glass of ice cold root beer to his lips. Families didn’t always understand each other, but sometimes all it took was one person to keep the bridge from collapsing. 

The meal eventually wound down into the soft murmur of forks scraping porcelain and the last of Sarah’s roast vegetables being nudged around plates. Laughter had dulled into quieter conversation, the kind that came when stomachs were full and the edge of hunger had been blunted. 

Clark dabbed his mouth with a napkin and pushed his chair back slightly. “That was wonderful.” He said with sincere warmth in his tone. He started to rise, reaching for his plate. “Here, let me help with the dishes.”

Carol’s eyes flicked up immediately, her tone polite but firm. “No need. You’re a guest, Clark.”

“I don’t mind.” Clark smiled gently, stacking his fork atop the plate. “Back home, we used to say dinner’s only finished once the dishes are done. I’d be glad to pitch in.”

Before Carol could answer, Sarah gave him an encouraging smile. “That’s very sweet, but really, we’ve got a system already. It’s easier if you just sit and enjoy yourself.”

Carol added, sharper but not unkind: “Besides, the kids can help.” Her gaze lingered on Amy, who stiffened in her chair before muttering a flat, “Fine.”

Clark caught it, the way Amy’s shoulders drew tight once again, and the way she kept her eyes fixed on her plate instead of her mother. It wasn’t rebellion, not exactly, but a subtle resistance that spoke of battles fought too many times before. Clark didn’t press. Instead, he simply nodded, settling back into his chair with his hands folded neatly in his lap.

“You’ve been more than generous already, helping everyone.” Sarah said gently, her smile smoothing the edge that Carol’s tone had left. “Please, just relax.”

Clark gave a small chuckle, adjusting his glasses. “Well, I suppose I can be persuaded, but you’ll have to let me at least compliment the chef again. That chicken was perfect.”

Carol’s expression softened, just slightly. “Thank you, it was my mother’s recipe.”

The conversation picked up again, with Victoria swooping in to recount a half-finished patrol story, but Clark let the moment linger in his mind. Carol’s refusal hadn’t been malicious, and Amy’s compliance wasn’t lazy. It was something else, a thread between them, stretched tight but not yet frayed. A mother who didn’t quite know how to reach her daughter, and a daughter who didn’t quite believe she was worth the reaching.

He didn’t intrude, no, Clark just sat quietly, with a smile still fixed on his lips, storing the observation away for later date. 

Rome wasn’t built in a day. 

A/N

Y’all thought there would be no chapter today huh? 

Chapter Text

The Hebert house leaned tired against the winter wind, its siding weathered, porch light flickering weakly against the dusk. Clark landed softly on the front step, his boots crunching the snow without so much as a ripple to disturb the quiet street. His cape hung loose at his back, red bright against the gray night. He knocked gently, just enough to be heard.

The door opened a moment later. Taylor stood there, framed by the glow of a single lamp inside. She had her sweater sleeves bunched over her hands, hair tied back, shoulders a little tense like she expected bad news. Her eyes widened briefly at the sight of him, then steadied, but the weight of awe never completely left her expression. Clark was just a normal guy, she should relax. 

“You didn’t have to come all the way here.” She murmured, hugging the door against the cold.

Clark’s smile was warm, the kind meant to ease worries before they could form. “Taylor, when someone makes you a meal, you don’t send someone else to get it. You show up, that’s called respect. Besides, we’re friends remember? How’s your old man doing?” 

“He’s fine, watching the news.” Her brow furrowed, like she wanted to argue but didn’t quite have the ground to stand on. She turned, lifting a thermos from the small table by the door. Steam curled faintly from the lid, filling the air with the smell of lentils and herbs. Taylor held it out to him, with both hands steady despite her expression.

“It’s just soup.” She said quickly. “Nothing special. Dad says it can warm your belly though.” 

Clark accepted the thermos with both hands, as though it were something fragile. The warmth bled into his palms, and his smile lingered. “It’s good soup.” He said firmly. “You don’t dismiss a gift like this. Where I come from, we’d call this a kindness worth more than gold.”

Taylor blinked, a little thrown by the weight he gave the words. “It’s just,  it’s nothing. I didn’t do anything important.”

Clark crouched slightly so their eyes were level, his voice gentle but unwavering. “Taylor, you showed thoughtfulness. You cared, that is important. The world has plenty of people who can break things. We need more who know how to build, how to give. Don’t ever call that ‘nothing.’”

Her throat bobbed, and for a second she couldn’t think of a reply. She really needed some friends her own age. Hm, perhaps he could give Vicky and Amy a call? Catch two birds with one net? Yeah, that sounded like a good plan. If he was as smart as Bruce or Michael he’d come up with a way to make them become friends naturally, but he wasn’t. He was going to have to do this the old fashion way. 

Clark allowed the silence to sit for a beat before softening it with a new thread. “School starts again soon, doesn’t it?”

Immediately, her shoulders stiffened and she looked away. “Yeah.“I…I don’t think I’m ready for it.”

“What’s got you worried?” Clark asked, not pushing, just offering the space.

Taylor’s lips tightened. “Everything. The stares, the whispers. Like everyone already knows what I am, and they’re just waiting for me to prove them right. It’s easier to stay home.” He could never imagine what she was going through, it was inhuman. Clark understood why she was so scared. 

Clark’s expression stayed steady, compassionate. “Taylor, fear only has power if you let it make your choices. I won’t lie, it’s not fair, and it won’t feel easy, but every time you walk through those doors, you prove you’re stronger than their words. You prove you belong.”

Her brow furrowed again, with a flicker of doubt in her eyes. “And if they never stop?”

“Then you keep going anyway.” Clark said simply. His tone was firm, but never harsh. “Because you’re not walking in there alone. You carry the truth of who you are, and the people who see you. I’m one of them. Your dad is too, and one day, they won’t be able to ignore that anymore.”

The wind whistled faintly through the trees. Taylor tugged her sleeves further over her hands, voice small. “…I’ll try.”

Clark’s smile warmed, his eyes softening with pride. “That’s all I ask.”

Yoda had said, do or do not, there is no try, but Clark saw things differently. Sometimes, all someone had to do was try to take that one step forward. 

He straightened his posture, holding the thermos close like it was something sacred. “Thank your Dad for me, would you? Tell him it’s just what I needed.”

Taylor nodded, still half-hidden in the doorframe. For the first time that evening, the corner of her mouth tugged upward in the faintest ghost of a smile. Good! Now they were making some progress. 

Clark inclined his head respectfully before lifting off the porch, rising into the sky as gently as he had arrived. 

What a beautiful night.

The thermos was warm in Clark’s hand as he climbed into the night sky, rising past rooftops and the spindly glow of streetlamps until Brockton Bay spread wide beneath him. From above, the city looked almost peaceful, as streets glistened with frost, smoke trailing from chimneys, and the tide curling against the rusted edges of its docks, but Clark had lived long enough to know beauty could be a disguise.

He hovered high, cape shifting in the wind, and opened his senses.

The city spoke to him. Tires squealed two miles away, a dog barked at nothing near the shoreline, and in the distance, a baby’s thin cry stretched through the quiet. Clark tuned past them, letting the broader pattern reveal itself. He had learned that a city’s heartbeat was in its noise, the layers of laughter, grief, commerce, and violence, all woven together. Tonight, Brockton Bay’s rhythm was uneven.

The ABB were making themselves heard. Spray cans hissed against brick walls in Chinatown, laughter sharp and ugly. A gun clicked as it was loaded in a back alley near the Boardwalk, followed by shouted threats in Mandarin and Korean. Their presence was open, almost reckless, but what set Clark’s jaw tighter wasn’t the ABB, it was the silence.

The Empire Eighty-Eight’s usual stomping grounds were quiet, too quiet. No rallies, no patrols in jackboots, no graffiti crews marking turf. This world had literal Nazis, and they went to ground the moment Clark made his presence known. What were they up to? The Merchants, too, hadn’t stirred in weeks, their usual drunken chaos absent from the streets. Clark didn’t believe in coincidences, not in a city like this, not in a world like this. That kind of quiet was the kind that preceded storms. Even across the United States and in Europe, crime still found a way to persist despite his arrival. 

Clark had kinda expected this. He released a slow breath, fogging the air even at this altitude.

Below him, the lights of Brockton Bay flickered uncertain but stubborn, like candles against a draft. For every sound of fear, there was one of persistence. He heard the soft hum of a radio playing salsa in a corner bodega, the weary but gentle laugh of a mother soothing her child, the scrape of a shovel as an old man cleared snow from his neighbor’s walk. Little moments of defiance, little moments of kindness. 

Clark looked down at the thermos, still cradled in his hand. Sure it was just some soup given freely, but it was a kindness that asked for nothing in return.

This city was bruised, scarred, and trembling under the weight of gangs and capes who treated power like a weapon, but it was also alive, carrying within it the quiet proof that people could still care, still give, even when the world gave them every reason not to.

He angled forward, cape catching the wind, and began his patrol.

The room smelled faintly of dust and fabric glue. Taylor sat cross-legged on her bed, knees pressed together, a tangle of black cloth draped across her lap. The old sewing kit her mom had left behind rattled every time she reached for another needle, the tin box decorated with faded flowers. The threads inside were mismatched, and the spools were half-empty, but they’d have to do.

Taylor pricked her finger once, hissing softly, then shoved the sting down and kept going. The stitches weren’t pretty, uneven and tight, but they held. That was what mattered. 

On the desk, her biology homework sat unfinished, pages curling under the weight of a half-drained mug of tea. She ignored it. Tonight, the only thing that mattered was the strip of cloth slowly becoming something more in her hands.

Taylor pulled the rough shape of the mask up against her face, checking the alignment in her cracked mirror. The eyeholes were uneven, one was too wide and the other a little lopsided, but the dark fabric hid her face well enough. It turned her into someone else. Someone who didn’t have to flinch when classmates whispered. Someone who didn’t have to fold in on herself when the world grew cruel.

Her stitches pulled tighter. Taylor threaded another needle, her jaw clenched, and sleeves pushed up past her elbows.

This wasn’t about power. She didn’t have any. She wasn’t like Superman, or New Wave, or even a potential Ward, but she could sew a mask. She could cover her face, walk into the night, and try.

Every jab of the needle into the cloth was a vow, silent and sharp.

When she finally slipped the mask over her head again, it fit snug, the fabric felt rough against her cheekbones, and the thread biting just enough to remind her this was real. She breathed in and out, steadying herself.

Taylor Hebert was nobody, but Owlgirt, Owlgirl could be someone.

A/N

This might be controversial, I’m not sure yet.

Chapter Text

The children’s ward wasn’t silent. Machines hummed their rhythms, monitors beeped, and muffled voices drifted out of patient rooms, but tonight there was something else too, laughter, small and timid at first, then stronger as Clark stepped through the ward, carrying a bundle of different plushies. 

The first child spotted him before he’d even reached the nurses’ station. A boy with a shaved head and an Armsmaster pajama top gasped, eyes going wide as saucers. 

“Superman!” His voice carried down the hall like a flare. The flare seemed to spread like wildfire, and the next thing Clark knew, the ones who were awake and the ones who could get out of bed, were already shuffling forward, pulling IV stands with them, slippers scuffing the tiles. A nurse tried to corral them, flustered, but Clark crouched down and held out a hand, smiling gently, as he handed the nurse her own plush. 

“It’s all right. Just for a few minutes.”

The nurse hesitated, then relented with a quiet sigh, watching as the children pressed closer, and holding her plush close to her chest. They were a donation from the bounty from the Nines capture. Clark had refused at first, but with the lack of a job in this world, he kept the bare minimum to not mooch off of the good will of others. The rest he gave back to the community, those who had lost loved ones to the Nines attacks. The children gathered around him in a loose circle, wide-eyed, whispering his name, with their voices buzzing with excitement.

“Is it true you can see through walls?”

“My dad said you carried a ship, like, a real cruise ship!”

“Can you fly us around the hospital?”

Clark chuckled softly, raising a hand as if calming a classroom. “One question at a time, please.”

He let them fire off questions, about space, about flying, about what the stars looked like up close. Clark answered every one patiently, his voice calm but never patronizing. He picked up a small boy, setting him gently on his shoulder so he could ‘be tall like Superman.’ He showed another how to form a paper airplane properly and tossed it down the hall, adjusting his breath so it flew straight and true. That one had earned him a lot of cheers. 

When one girl asked to see the city lights, Clark couldn’t refuse. 

“Not yet.” He said kindly, “-But how about this?” He angled a beam of heat vision carefully into a glass of water until a rainbow shimmered across the ceiling. Gasps filled the hallway, then cheers. For a moment, the machines and antiseptic smell didn’t matter. 

All that mattered was wonder.

When Clark finally stood again, the children clung to his hands, to the folds of his cape. He met each of their gazes, giving a word here, a nod there, until the nurses gently ushered them back toward their rooms with their new plushies.

That was when Amy appeared, stopping short at the sight of him surrounded by half a dozen cancer patients who still glowed with smiles. She froze in the doorway, her clipboard clutched tight to her chest and eyes narrowing like she couldn’t decide whether to scold him or let him be.

“Figures you’d be here.” She muttered under her breath, pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “You’re not even supposed to be in this ward, but the nurses are acting like you hung the moon.”

Clark just gave her a small, quiet smile. “They needed it. Sometimes healing starts with joy.”

Amy exhaled, sharp and tired, but didn’t argue right away. She just stood there, watching the rainbow still flicker faintly across the ceiling. These children all had a form of brain cancer, where her power was limited and could do little. Amy’s powers were wonderful and all healing, but even they had their own limits, just like Clark did.

The rainbow on the ceiling had already begun to fade, just a memory of light. Amy exhaled slowly, tired and brittle. “…Did you even eat dinner?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Dinner?”

Amy’s gaze flicked up to him, sharp but not unkind, then back down to her shoes. “You’ve been running around all day, putting out fires, saving people, cheering up kids. Don’t tell me you haven’t forgotten to actually sit down and eat.”

Clark’s smile tilted, sheepish in a way that made him seem less untouchable. “I might’ve had half a sandwich and some more soup.” 

Amy groaned, dragging a gloved hand down her face. “Unbelievable. You lecture me about taking care of myself, and you’re out here running on fumes.”

Clark chuckled, the sound low and warm. “You’re right. I’ll make it up to you, next time I’ll bring two sandwiches, one for me and one for you. Deal?”

Amy huffed, but the corner of her mouth twitched as though she was fighting a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“I get that a lot.” Clark said, his voice gentle but steady. He inclined his head, the rainbow’s last shimmer still glowing faintly above them. “But I’ll take your advice, Amy. I promise.”

Amy gave him an unserious glare. “I’ll order us a pizza.”

Hopefully it was pepperoni. 

The pizza box steamed between them on the breakroom table, its cardboard darkened in greasy patches. The hospital lights hummed overhead, buzzing faintly, their glow too sharp for how late it was. Amy sat hunched in her chair, with her gloves peeled off for once, and a paper plate balanced on her knee. Clark sat across from her, his cape draped over the back of his chair like it belonged there.

Amy tore into her slice like she hadn’t eaten in days, then shot him a glare when she realized he was watching. “Don’t say it. I earned this.”

Clark smiled, calm as always, taking a slower bite of his own. “Didn’t plan on saying anything.” He set the crust down on his plate. “Though, I was going to compliment your choice of toppings.” There were worse toppings to choose out there. 

Amy snorted. “Pepperoni. It's really complicated huh?”

“Sometimes the simple things are best,” Clark replied, his tone light but steady.

For a moment, the only sound was chewing and the crinkle of paper napkins. Then Amy leaned back, studying him with a mix of exhaustion and curiosity. “So tell me about your world. You’ve got a team, right? A group like the Protectorate?”

“Hm, I’m not really part of a team, though I work with the Justice Gang a lot.” Clark answered as he enjoyed a nice cheese pull. He tilted his head back as he stuffed it all in his mouth. Ma was going to kill him if he got grease stains on his costume. 

Amy raised a lone brow. “You mean like a cape gang, but the good kind?”

Clark chuckled softly. “You could say that, but it wasn’t just about powers. Some of the best weren’t stronger or faster than anyone else. They had only their training, their wits, and their will, and that was enough to stand beside gods and aliens and never flinch.”

Michael was just a regular guy, who just so happened to be one of the smartest men on the planet. 

Amy rolled her eyes, though not unkindly. “That sounds like something you’d say.” But her gaze lingered on him, curious despite herself. “…Are any of them as impossible as you?”

Clark’s smile softened, distant. “One of my closest friends was a man who didn’t have any powers at all. He wore a mask, carried gadgets, and fought every night because he couldn’t stand the thought of innocents suffering. He taught me that fear doesn’t have to own you. That courage is a choice you make every day, even when you’re tired, even when the world feels too heavy.”

Bruce really needed to stop breaking so many bones though. 

Amy’s expression shifted, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. She looked down at her slice, picking at the crust. “That sounds familiar.”

Clark didn’t push, instead he just nodded, letting the silence rest between them like an old friend for a moment. Time to change the conversation.

“Hey, so there’s a volunteer event this weekend. It’s for soup kitchens, nothing flashy. I thought maybe you’d like to come too. No capes, no crowds, just helping people who need a hand.” Clark stopped at his second slice. The other nurses would probably like one. 

Amy had slowed her chewing, forked another slice onto her plate, and gave him a skeptical side-eye. “You want me to stand behind a counter and ladle soup into bowls?”

Clark’s voice was patient, fatherly without being patronizing. “I want you to see what it feels like to help in a way that doesn’t take anything out of you. No powers, no pressure. Just being there.”

Amy huffed, but she didn’t say no. Instead she muttered, “I don’t exactly play nice with strangers.”

“You don’t have to.” Clark said gently, leaning back in his chair. “Just show up. You’d be surprised how much it means when people see someone who cares enough to stand beside them.”

Amy poked at her crust, then gave him a sharp glance. “You’ve got some other angle here, don’t you?”

Clark’s smile turned faint, almost conspiratorial. “There’s a girl who’ll be there. Taylor Hebert. She could use someone her own age who understands what it means to carry more than people think you should.”

“Ah, locker girl?” Amy froze for a moment. She had been the one who healed Taylor’s cuts and infections. 

Clark’s expression softened, serious but calm. “Yes. Taylor. She’s strong, Amy. Stronger than she thinks, but right now, she doesn’t believe that herself. She needs someone to remind her that surviving something awful doesn’t make you broken.”

Amy set her pizza down, appetite waning. “And you think I’m that someone?” She shook her head with a dry laugh. “Superman, I can barely keep myself together half the time. I’m not exactly mentor material.” She only called him Clark whenever it was sure no one was around. 

Clark leaned forward, his elbows resting lightly on the table, his cape spilling like a curtain of red at his sides. “You don’t have to be perfect to help someone else. Sometimes just being there, sharing a little of the weight, is enough. You already know what it feels like to carry too much.”

Amy’s eyes flickered, betraying something she didn’t put into words. She looked away, muttering. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s true.” Clark said gently. “And because you know it, you can recognize it in others. You can remind Taylor she isn’t alone, even when she’s convinced she is.”

The room hummed with the fluorescent lights, the silence stretching between them. Amy tapped her fingers against the paper plate, jaw tight, before finally sighing. “…Fine. I’ll go, but only because you won’t stop asking otherwise.”

Clark chuckled, the sound warm and easy. “That’s all I ask.”

Amy shot him a sharp look, though her lips twitched like she was hiding a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve heard that before.” Clark replied, leaning back and picking up his crust. “But impossible doesn’t mean wrong.”

A/N

I really gotta watch Peacemaker.

Chapter Text

The soup kitchen smelled like boiled vegetables and too many bodies crammed into one drafty hall. The line of people stretched out the door, coats patched and boots caked with old snow. Volunteers moved behind the counter with practiced rhythm, ladle, bowl, bread, smile, repeat.

Amy hated it already.

She stood with gloved hands folded across her chest, trying not to look like she wanted to bolt. This wasn’t her scene. She healed wounds, rebuilt lungs, untangled broken nerves, she didn’t  ladle stew into Styrofoam cups while people stared at her like she was some kind of saint.

“Relax.” Clark’s voice rumbled beside her, low enough not to carry. He had ditched the cape, showing up in a plain coat that somehow didn’t make him look any less impossible. He had shown up as Clark Kent, not the Man of Steel Superman. “It’s not about being perfect, just about being present to show that you care.” 

Amy rolled her eyes, muttering. “You make it sound like philosophy class.”

But she took the ladle when the coordinator shoved it into her hands anyway. The soup sloshed heavy, thicker than it looked, and the first man in line gave her a weary ‘thank you’ that dug under her skin in ways she didn’t like. She mumbled something back, already looking past him and serving the next tired old woman. 

The rhythm came faster than she expected. Ladle, bowl, a piece of chicken, some bread, and next. The line didn’t end. Faces blurred together, but the murmured thanks didn’t. Some were hoarse, some hopeful, some barely audible, and every one of them carried some weight despite Amy trying to ignore them. Her shoulders started to ache just from holding it in. 

“You’re doing fine.” Clark said softly, not even looking at her, just passing out pieces of oven-baked chicken like he’d been born to it. Of course he made it look easy.

Amy ground her teeth and focused on the soup. That was when she noticed the girl two stations down, fumbling awkwardly with the bread basket. Taylor Hebert. Her curly hair pulled back into a long ponytail, and wore a sweater that seemed two sizes too big, with her sleeves pulled up over her hands. She was doing her best to avoid eye contact with anyone, but she was here anyway. 

Volunteering. Did she know Clark’s secret identity? How many people did he trust with it outside of her family? Amy almost dropped the ladle, but caught herself. No, Clark was nice, but he wasn’t stupid. 

Taylor caught her staring once, her eyes wide and uncertain, before ducking back to her task. Amy turned away quickly, heat prickling at the back of her neck. She wasn’t good at this, forming friendships, bonding, whatever Clark was trying to engineer. Amy wasn’t the one who smiled at strangers. She wasn’t Victoria.

But as the line moved, Amy kept catching glimpses of Taylor, her fumbling, her stiff posture, the way she lit up a little when someone actually met her eyes and said thank you.

It felt familiar, too familiar.

By the time the line thinned, Amy’s arm was sore from ladling and her brain was buzzing with exhaustion. She set the pot aside, flexing her fingers inside her gloves. Across the table, Taylor was stacking used bowls into a trash bag. She glanced up again, and this time, instead of looking away, Amy gave the barest nod.

Taylor blinked, surprised, then nodded back.

Clark was pretending not to watch from the far end of the table, but Amy caught the smug little smile he failed to hide. She wanted to throw her ladle at him.

Cleanup was worse than serving. At least when she was ladling soup she had something to focus on, some excuse to keep her head down and not deal with the noise in her chest. Now she was stuck drying trays with a rag that smelled like bleach while Taylor stacked bowls beside her, the air between them thick with awkward silence.

Clark was still across the hall, listening intently to the coordinator like every word about organizing volunteers was life-and-death. His cape wasn’t there, but he didn’t need it, he had that same aura of quiet steadiness, like the whole room ran smoother just because he was in it. Amy rolled her eyes.

Typical.

A bowl clattered out of Taylor’s hands, breaking the silence with a too-loud scrape. Taylor flinched like she expected someone to scold her. Amy sighed, grabbed it before it hit the floor, and slid it back onto the stack.

“…Thanks.” Taylor whispered, not looking in Amy’s direction. 

Amy shrugged, wiping down another tray. “It happens, don’t worry about it.” 

It should’ve ended there, but Amy caught the way Taylor’s shoulders eased, just a little. Like even that small bit of grace meant more than it should. Amy recognized the feeling, she knew what it was like to brace for criticism, only to be blindsided by kindness.

They worked side by side in silence, the kind that wasn’t comfortable but wasn’t unbearable either. Slowly, it began to feel less like silence and more like space.

Finally, Taylor cleared her throat, voice soft. “Do you come to these things a lot?”

Amy almost snorted, but caught herself at the last second. “It’s my first time.”

Taylor’s mouth tugged upward in a crooked half-smile. “Me too.”

She was uglier than Vicky, which outside of Clark who was extremely good looking by anyone's standards, was the norm. Everyone was ugly standing next to them. Taylor’s face was plainer than Vicky’s, and her body lankier despite her attempts to hide it with baggy sweaters and jeans. Amy didn’t let herself smile back. She just muttered. “Figures.”

And reached for the next tray, but when she glanced sideways, Taylor was still wearing that tiny smile, and for once, she didn’t look like she wanted to disappear.

The sink gurgled again, water splashing over Amy’s gloves. She stacked another tray, more roughly than she needed to, and stole a glance at Taylor. The girl was still wearing that faint, crooked smile as she wiped down bowls with slow, careful movements. She wasn’t radiant or magnetic like Vicky, no one was, but there was something steady there, a kind of quiet determination that Amy found herself noticing in spite of herself. Was this why Clark wanted them to meet?

Taylor broke the silence again, voice hesitant but searching. “Do you ever get used to it? People looking at you like you’re supposed to have all the answers?”

Amy froze, rag dripping bleach-water down her wrist. For a second she thought about brushing it off with a joke, but the way Taylor was staring at the bowl in her hands, her jaw tight and with stiff shoulders, made her stop.

“…No.” Amy finally admitted. Her voice was lower, stripped of its usual sharpness. “You don’t get used to it. You just learn how to keep moving anyway.”

Taylor looked up at her then, really looked, and for once didn’t flinch. She nodded, almost like she’d been waiting to hear someone say exactly that. They worked in silence for another stretch, but it wasn’t the same silence as before. It had softened, shifted.

“Thanks.” Taylor said suddenly, drying her hands on the rag.

Amy frowned. “For what?”

Taylor hesitated, then shrugged. “For not making me feel stupid. Most people do.”

Amy blinked, caught off guard. She didn’t know what to say to that. “You’re welcome?” 

It wasn’t much, not yet, but when Taylor’s smile returned, smaller this time, steadier, Amy didn’t look away. Oddly enough, she didn’t hate talking to the rather plain girl. 

Across the room, Clark caught the exchange, and this time he didn’t bother hiding his smile. Amy shot him a sharp glare. 

What a Supershit. 

The last of the trays clattered into the bin, and the hum of the soup kitchen wound down into tired chatter. Volunteers peeled off their aprons, shoulders sagging, and the steady stream of footsteps faded into the muffled night beyond the doors.

Amy tugged her gloves back on, flexing her sore fingers. She hated how raw the skin felt, even through the cotton. Across the table, Taylor wrestled the trash bag into a knot, then looked toward the exit like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to leave.

Amy sighed and slung her coat over her shoulders. “C’mon, before they rope us into mopping too.”

Taylor blinked, startled, but followed anywaus. The cold air hit them both as soon as they stepped outside. It smelled like wet asphalt and old smoke, the city’s winter bite sharper after the cramped heat of the hall.

For a while, their footsteps were the only sound. Amy shoved her hands deep into her pockets, hunched against the wind. She wasn’t good at this, small talk, building bridges, but Taylor was even worse. She walked stiffly, with her gaze fixed on the cracked sidewalk, as though afraid the ground might give out beneath her.

After what felt like an eternity, Amy broke the silence. “You did all right in there.”

Taylor glanced sideways, suspicious, like it was a trap. “I dropped bread twice.”

“Yeah, well, I sloshed soup on some guy’s coat.” Amy’s lips twitched. “Guess we’re both terrible at this.”

Taylor snorted, a short, surprised sound. She pushed her glasses higher up on her nose’s bridge, just like Clark. 

They kept walking. Past a flickering streetlamp, past a shuttered laundromat with graffiti curling across the windows.

Taylor finally spoke up on her accord, without any prodding from Amy. “Do you actually like this? The volunteering thing?”

Amy blew out a breath, watching it steam in the cold. “Not really. My Mom would probably say I’m supposed to, but that’s mostly in hospitals.” 

Taylor blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Yeah, I imagine that’s more exciting. ” 

She had no idea she was Panacea huh? 

Something eased between them.

Amy shoved her hands deeper into her coat pockets. “But I guess volunteering wasn’t the worst thing in the world, it’s better than sitting at home and pretending everything’s fine.”

Taylor gave a small nod, hugging her own sleeves tighter. “Yeah, way better than being invisible, too.”

Amy glanced sideways and caught her expression in the glow of the streetlight. There was no awe there, no judgment, just quiet understanding. Amy wasn’t used to that, it felt different.

“Next time-” Amy said before she could stop herself, “-if my friend drags me to one of these again, you should sit at my station. Less chance of bread casualties that way.”

Taylor blinked, startled, then laughed, a small, shaky sound, but real. “Deal, and maybe you won’t drown anyone’s coat either.”

Amy rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched despite herself.

They walked the rest of the block together, not saying much, but their steps matched without either of them trying. It wasn’t comfortable, not yet, but it was better.

When they finally reached the corner where their paths split, Taylor hesitated. “See you around, Amy?”

Amy adjusted her gloves, pretending it wasn’t a big deal. “Yeah. See you, Taylor.”

Taylor’s smile lingered a moment longer before she turned away, her ponytail swaying with each step.

Amy stood there in the cold, watching until Taylor disappeared into the dark, before letting out a slow sigh. She still hated soup kitchens, still hated forced small talk, but maybe Clark hadn’t been entirely wrong this time.

Maybe, just maybe, she’d found someone who understood.

A/N

And with that, Amy’s focus arc is over. Her issues won’t be fixed in a single arc, but with time.

AO3 readers, there seemed to be some chapter orders mixed up but thats been fixed now.

Chapter Text

The stereo rattled like it was about to blow its cheap speakers apart, but Chris didn’t care. Journey was blasting, Adrian was screaming half the lyrics in the wrong key, but Chris felt alive. Why? He didn’t know, his life sucked ass, but at least the booze made him feel better. 

“ I was alone, I never knew what good love could do.” 

Chris stomped across the stained carpet in full uniform, his helmet gleaming under the flickering lightbulb, thrusting his hips like he was commanding a stadium crowd. The music hit that part, that perfect part where the guitars kicked like gunfire, and Chris bellowed with everything in his chest, his voice raw and off-key but louder than the music itself.

“ Ohh, all night, all night, every night!” 

Adrian matched him, because of course he did. The guy had no rhythm, but he had heart, and sometimes that was enough. He twirled his air guitar like it was Excalibur, and tripped on the edge of the bed and landed on the floor with a thud, but then bounced back up like nothing happened.

Chris didn’t even laugh. Not really, because this, the sweat, the shouting, the pure force of sound in his lungs, this wasn’t a joke. It was a relief. 

This was what freedom felt like.

“ Anyway you want it, that's the way you need it!” 

When the chorus hit, he jumped onto the bed, the springs screaming beneath his boots. Adrian followed, nearly knocking him over, and the two of them bellowed into each other’s faces like warriors psyching up before battle. Chris ripped off his helmet at the final note, holding it high over his head like a holy relic.

The last chord crashed out of the stereo, leaving them panting, sweating, ears ringing.

Eagly flapped his wings from the couch, screeching along with the song like he was part of the band.

Adrian struck a pose, chest out, finger pointed at Chris like he’d just won a duel. “Dude, that was flawless! We should totally choreograph this into our next mission.”

Chris wiped sweat from his forehead and pointed back as he downed a shot straight from a bottle of whiskey. “Hell yeah! Criminals won’t know what hit ‘em. Two dudes, synchronized moves, and justice in their faces.”

Eagly screeched again, hopping off the couch, tugging at Chris’ pant leg with his beak.

“What, dude? You gotta go outside?” Chris bent down, still panting. “I told you, use the litter box I made for you.”

Adrian tilted his head. “I’m pretty sure eagles don’t use litter boxes, Chris. You need to train him.” 

“Shut up, Adrian, you don’t know that.” Chris muttered as he wobbled. 

Chris stumbled a little as Eagly tugged harder, his claws scrabbling against the stained carpet. The bird flapped toward the basement door, screeching like his feathers were on fire.

“Okay, okay, damn, you’re bossy tonight.” Chris muttered, grabbing his helmet back off the bed. The whiskey burned in his throat as he tilted the bottle again, but it didn’t help him feel steadier.

Adrian leaned on the wall like he was in a buddy-cop movie. “Maybe he’s leading you to treasure. Like in The Goonies.”

“Or maybe it’s just shit!” Chris shot back. “You don’t know.”

Still, he followed, because it was Eagly. The only thing in this godforsaken world who liked him without conditions. Nobody else cared about him, except maybe Adrian and Adebayo. 

The basement light flicked on, buzzing with a sick yellow glow. Down there, behind a rusted steel door, was the thing Chris had sworn not to touch again. His Dad’s last science project.

The Quantum Unfolding Chamber.

The door was slightly ajar, humming faintly like a hive of angry bees. Adrian’s mask tilted curiously. Huh, when did he get dressed? “Whoa. Did that always make that noise?”

Chris grunted. “It’s always been creepy. Pretty sure it’s haunted, or cursed, or both. Dad said it’s an ‘extra-dimensional storage facility’ but that’s just a fancy way of saying "closet of nightmares.”

Eagly screeched and strutted right inside like he was on a mission. What was wrong with him? Eagly usually wasn’t like this. 

Chris rubbed his face. “Yeah, fine, but if I end up fighting like, zombie Nazis, I’m blaming you.” At least he never went anywhere without his desert eagles, but fuck, man was he tired of killing. Was this all he was good for? 

Adrian gasped behind him. “Zombie Nazis would be amazing!”

The chamber stretched forever, black walls stacked with boxes and relics, no end in sight. Chris hated looking at it too long, it made his head hurt, like the space was wrong.

And then he saw it, a door, set into nothing.

Chris frowned. “That wasn’t there beforeeeee.” Okay the liquor was definitely taking

Eagly tapped it with his beak, hard enough to make the hinges groan.

Adrian leaned closer. “Think it goes to Atlantis?”

“Do you think Atlantis smells like fish guts and dumpster fires?” Chris muttered, covering his nose. “Because that’s what this is.”

“Hey, doesn’t Aquaman fuck fish? It could be an or-” Adrian was cut off when the door creaked open with a wet groan. Beyond it, Chris could see a city skyline. Rusted docks, flickering neon, cracked streets, and somewhere out there, a gunshot cracked through the night.

Adrian pointed eagerly. “Adventure door! Let’s go!”

Chris groaned, pulling his helmet on. “Goddammit. Fine, but if we die, it’s on you.”

Eagly flapped right through. Adrian skipped after him like a kid on a field trip.

Chris sighed, took one more swig of whiskey, and stepped into the dark.

The door slammed shut behind them, but he knew how to get back.

The air reeked of seawater, rust, and smoke. A flickering streetlight cast shadows on graffiti-scrawled walls. Somewhere close, men shouted in a language Chris didn’t know. Yeah, this was definitely not their world, or he had drank too much. 

He exhaled, shoulders sagging. “This isn’t Evergreen.”

Adrian bounced on his heels, eyes wide behind the mask. Both of his pistols gleamed in his hands like he was ready for a showdown. “Dude. We just found another universe. Do you realize how awesome this is? We’re like interdimensional warriors of justice now. We’re the goddam Power Rangers!”

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hate my life.”

Eagly screeched overhead, circling once before landing on a busted lamppost. His talons clinked against the rusted metal like an omen.

Chris pulled his Desert Eagle, the weight familiar in his palm, while the carbine strap dug into his shoulder. He always felt better armed, always.

They walked a little further down the cracked sidewalk, boots crunching broken glass. Adrian hummed Journey under his breath, still buzzing from their dance session, and Chris was about two seconds from telling him to shut the hell up when his eyes caught something taped crooked to a wall.

It was a poster. Water-stained and with its edges peeling. A bold red “S” shield glaring back at him, stretched across a square-jawed face that looked way too familiar. 

Superman . 

Smiling down like he was the goddamn answer to everything. Chris froze, rage boiling up within him. 

Adrian leaned close. “Oh wow, dude. He’s even in this world. Mmmm, you can just get lost in his eyes can’t you-” 

Chris snarled, balling the poster in his fist and ripping it clean off the bricks. “Son of a bitch. Even here? I can’t escape this asshole?” He crumpled the paper, tossed it to the ground, and spat. “Fuck you, Superman. Multiverse my ass.”

Eagly screeched again, wings wide, like he agreed.

Chris adjusted his helmet, jaw set. “Fine. New world, new rules, but one thing never changes, Superman’s still a prick and an asshole.”

Adrian clapped him on the back, beaming. “Hell yeah. Let’s show this universe what real heroes look like.”

Chris grumbled under his breath, but his finger tightened on his pistol’s grip.

Justice, anyway you want it.

“Do you think they have BTS here?” Adrian interrupted, earning himself a sharp glare from Chris. 

“Shut the fuck up man, I was about to monologue.” 

Adebayo was going to kill him. 

A/N

Still haven’t seen Peacemaker fully, but watched some clips.

Chapter Text

The Alps trembled.

Even before the Endbringer rose, the mountains knew. Snow cracked loose from the cliffs, avalanches rolled down unseen slopes, and the wind carried the static stench of ozone. Capes stood scattered across ridges and valleys, hundreds of them, their colors too bright against the gray-white world.

Alexandria stood at the highest cliff, her arms folded over her chest. Her cape snapped behind her in the storm winds, though she didn’t notice. Her mind was elsewhere, calculating, projecting, preparing for the inevitable toll. Two hundred dead minimum, a thousand if Behemoth pressed too hard. Every battle was the same. They slowed him, and they endured, but they never won.

The capes gathered in droves. Hundreds of them lined the ridges and valleys, their capes and costumes a scattering of color against the white-gray wasteland. Old veterans she recognized instantly, Legend hovering high with beams already glowing at his hands, Eidolon grim-faced as ever, new recruits clutching weapons they wouldn’t survive to use. It was a ritual they’d played out before, and they all knew the script. The Brutes in the front, and the Blasters in the back, a classic strategy. 

Alexandria had long since stopped believing in miracles. She believed in mathematics, in strategy, in holding the line long enough for evacuations. They wouldn’t be done in time, they had barely gathered a few hundred Capes, volunteers being transported from around the world, the Movers were needed to bring them in, not save a couple hundred people in scattered villages. 

If they failed to drive Behemoth off, the Swiss Alps would be infected with its radiation, nearly in the center of Europe. 

“How many do you believe will die, Alexandria?” An older voice, with a British accent, asked from behind her. 

“Too many, Lord Walston.” Alexandria answered the head of the Kingsmen, the United Kingdom's premier hero organization. They weren’t the only European hero organization here. “And not enough to count.” 

She didn’t need to see his face to know the flicker of offense there. The Kingsmen weren’t here out of altruism. None of them were. Everyone spoke of sacrifice and valor, but in truth, they were standing guard over their vaults, their stockpiles, their treasures hidden deep beneath Swiss rock. Heroes died for pride and gold as much as for people. Several countries worth of capes were here. 

The Suits, also based in the UK, were present, along with the Italian Social Welfare Agency, Spanish Inquisition, and the French Gendarmes. 

All of them would break like glass under Behemoth’s claws.

Her earpiece crackled, and Legend’s voice came through, calm but clipped . “Eidolon is preparing constructs. When it emerges, strike with everything you have. Don’t hold back.”

She almost laughed. Don’t hold back? As though that had ever been the problem.

The ground shook as the mountains began to split.

The world convulsed as Behemoth tore his way upward, his roar rattling the marrow in her bones. Lightning crackled from his body, avalanches cascaded, and his claws swung with the inevitability of death. The first wave of capes surged forward, Brutes charging, energy weapons flaring, the air filled with fire and light. There were still people in the villages, and even more trying to evacuate. 

It didn’t matter.

The Brutes crumpled like always and the Blasters staggered. Eidolon’s barrier shattered with a scream of ozone.

Behemoth advanced, and with each step, the kill-count Alexandria had projected only grew.

She launched herself forward, her velocity cracking the air like thunder. She drove her fist into Behemoth’s side with enough force to shatter battleships, tearing blackened ichor across the snow. He roared but did not stop. Legend’s beams carved molten trenches, Eidolon conjured weapons of pure force, the Europeans unleashed their finest, but nothing slowed him.

It was the same old script. Always the same.

And then-

There was a new sound, it wasn’t thunder, nor Behemoth’s roar. A sonic crack split the heavens, sharper than anything she’d heard before. Capes staggered, turning their heads skyward. Even Behemoth stilled, his molten eyes narrowing.

Through the storm broke a streak of red and blue, faster than sight, cutting across the clouds like a blade.

It landed in front of them, and the mountains shook. Snow blasted outward as a crater carved itself into the earth, and standing at its center was a man. He wore a blue suit with red shorts and a matching red cape. The emblem on his chest was a stylized S against orange. 

He didn’t speak, but he didn’t hesitate.

Alexandria’s eyes widened.

One moment, panicked families were still clawing through the snow, trapped on roads already cut off by avalanches, and the next moment, they were gone. Vanished in a blur of red and blue. Then again, and again. Entire groups and caravans of evacuees, snatched from death and placed miles away on safe roads below. Even those in the villages, in the very irradiated center of Behemoth’s path, were gone 

In less than a minute, dozens, no, hundreds, were gone. Safe and sound. 

For one stunned instant, the battlefield stopped.

Alexandria’s mind, trained to parse speed, angles, and death tolls thanks to her Thinker rating, simply broke. Not even Legend at his fastest, not even herself when she blurred through air thick with sound barriers, could have accomplished what this stranger just had. Hundreds of civilians moved from harm’s path in seconds. Without teleportation, without portals, just pure speed and precision so flawless it bordered on divine.

“Impossible…” Alexandria muttered, the words snatched away by the storm.

Legend’s voice broke across the comms, awe bleeding through his discipline. “ Who is he?”

Eidolon didn’t answer as his constructs flickered, uncertain.

The man in blue and red did not pause for questions. With the last evacuees safely deposited beyond the ridges, he turned toward Behemoth. His cape whipped in the radioactive winds, his chest emblem gleaming like a defiance of entropy itself.

Behemoth roared, claws carving molten rents through the mountain, electricity arcing in waves that fried electronics and blistered steel. Entire squads of capes stumbled back, but the stranger, this Superman, moved forward.

The sound of his impact was like creation itself starting over.

The Superman struck Behemoth in the torso with such force that the Endbringer skidded back, back, black ichor spraying in wide arcs. The Alps themselves shuddered, its ridges collapsing under the blow. Alexandria’s ears rang, not from Behemoth’s scream but from the pure shock of what she was seeing.

It was real, Behemoth had been moved in a single strike. 

Legend’s beams carved molten furrows across Behemoth’s hide, but where they only burned, Superman’s fists broke. He tore through Behemoth’s guard, every strike faster than eyes could track, faster than Alexandria herself could follow. Heat lanced from his eyes, carving arcs of glowing stone.

Behemoth swung back. The claws that had slain cities. The claws that had split Eidolon’s barriers and caved mountains.

The Superman caught them.

He held them, and then he threw Behemoth.

The Endbringer toppled into the valley wall, as avalanches cascading over him. Superman didn’t relent, no, he was already there, fists hammering into the beast, his blows landing like artillery. For the first time since their creation, the Endbringers faltered. Behemoth’s roar cracked with pain.

Alexandria hovered, frozen in place with Legend beside her, speechless. Eidolon’s hands trembled at his sides, as his constructs flickering like candle flames in the wind. Around them, capes who had come expecting death, Europeans, Americans, independents, stood slack-jawed.

And then Superman rose into the air, Behemoth writhing in his grip, and with a final uppercut that cracked the sky, he sent the Endbringer hurtling upward, breaking through clouds in a streak of fire, cast screaming into orbit.

Silence fell over them. 

The snow settled over broken ridges, as flames hissed into steam, and the world hung still.

Alexandria realized she had been holding her breath. She exhaled, long and slow, her chest tight.

It was over. They didn’t just endure or delay the inevitable. It was over.

Legend’s voice broke the comm silence, hoarse. “ …he won.”

Eidolon said nothing.

Alexandria’s eyes fixed on the man descending calmly back to the crater floor. The SuperCape scanned the slopes, ensuring the last stragglers were safe, his cape billowing in quiet defiance of gravity itself.

For the first time in decades, she felt something she hadn’t thought possible.

Hope.

And it terrified her.

She needed to speak to Contessa. 

A/N

And now for the next arc!

Chapter Text

The headache always came first.

It started like a pinprick behind her left eye, small enough she could pretend it wasn’t there. Then it would spread, a slow burn crawling toward the base of her skull. Dinah sat at the kitchen table with her hands pressed to her temples, her untouched glass of orange juice sweating condensation beside her.

Her Mother’s voice drifted from the other room, soft but strained. She was talking on the phone, again. Another campaign call most likely. Uncle Theo’s political ambitions filled the house in the same way the headaches filled Dinah’s head, inescapable, constant, and heavy. She could hear the words without wanting to, poll numbers, fundraising, and her Uncle’s image. Things adults used like weapons, sharp and invisible.

Dinah squeezed her eyes shut.

Numbers slid into her mind uninvited.

Will someone knock on the door in the next ten minutes?

84%.

Will the headaches get worse before noon?

100%.

Her throat tightened slowly. She hadn’t even asked, but the answers came anyway, pushing at her brain like glass shards.

She hated her power, but she still waited for the Inevitable

The knock came five minutes later.

Her Father answered with his practiced smile, his politician’s smile. Dinah didn’t have to look up. She already knew who it was, just campaign volunteers, more men and women in suits, and voices rehearsed to sound warm while their eyes darted toward the framed pictures on the wall, cataloguing everything.

Dinah stared at the condensation sliding down her glass. Her head only throbbed harder.

Will they notice her?

67%.

She shifted in her chair, wishing she could vanish into it. Dinah needed to learn to stop asking questions. 

Her uncle’s campaign had made their house a revolving door, but lately it felt different. The questions wouldn’t stop whispering answers even when she wanted to shut them out. She saw futures like tangled threads, each one ending in the same knot.

Someone was coming.

Not today, not tomorrow, but soon, someone would take her.

The volunteers’ voices buzzed faintly in the other room, but Dinah didn’t need to listen. She already knew how long they would stay.

Will they leave within twenty minutes?

92%.

Her headache pulsed like a drumbeat. Every number was another weight, pressing, grinding, until she thought her skull might crack open from the pressure.

Her Father laughed too loudly at something one of them said. Her Mother’s voice chimed in with the same brittle warmth she always used when guests came around. They all wore masks, just like the Capes, with miles stretched thin over their skin. 

Dinah slid off her chair, carrying her glass of juice with both hands, careful not to spill with how slippery the condensation made it. She didn’t want to draw attention.

Will they notice her if she goes upstairs?

23%.

Dinah exhaled and padded up the steps slowly. This time, the risk was worth it. 

Dinah’s room was thankfully dim with its curtains drawn. She set the glass on her nightstand and crawled under the covers of her bed, pulling them over her head even though it wasn’t cold.

She tried not to ask, she really did, but the questions kept forming anyway, clawing their way out of her mind.

Will she be taken from this house?

86%.

Dinah’s breath hitched and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Will it happen this week?

0%.

This month?

3%.

Before the end of the year?

100%.

The pressure behind her eyes spiked, sharp enough to make her whimper. She curled into herself, clutching her head with both hands.

The numbers didn’t care if she begged them to stop.

That night, sleep came in broken shards. Dinah dreamed of a van door slamming shut, the smell of smoke and oil, voices murmuring commands she couldn’t quite hear. A man’s silhouette loomed in the dark, tall and thin, with a calmness that was worse than anger.

She woke with a cry, her pillow damp, heart hammering against her ribs.

Her mother came rushing in, but Dinah forced herself to say it was just a bad dream. She couldn’t tell her the truth. They wouldn’t believe her, or worse, they would, and then the fear would spread like a stain through the house.

Her power didn’t lie, and it told her the truth again and again.

Someone was coming.

When the house quieted and her Mother returned to her room, Dinah tried one last time despite her migraine.

“Will anyone save me?”

The number crawled across her brain, jagged and cruel.

1%.

Dinah sobbed silently into her pillow until she couldn’t anymore. Her throat hurt, her head burned, but the tears didn’t change the number.

Hope wasn’t coming.

Not for her.

Not ever.

And for the first time, Dinah stopped believing in it.

Clark sat on the ledge of an office building’s roof, his cape tugged by the cold Atlantic wind. The sandwich in his hands wasn’t much, just some turkey, a little mustard, and a little wilted lettuce, but it was enough to keep him full for a little while. 

He chewed slowly, savoring the quiet in a city that never really had any, but his mind still wandered.

Amy and Taylor were friends now. 

He couldn’t help but smile faintly at the thought of them. They were two girls who carried too much for their age, both convinced they were broken in different ways, and yet, somehow, when they’d found each other, it had looked right. Amy’s sharp edges dulled just enough, Taylor’s hunched shoulders straightened a little. A friendship stitched together from pain, but still something real. Lois was going to be so proud of him, or call him an idiot. Still! 

That was the kind of victory Clark believed in. Not just battles with monsters, not just punching Behemoth into the sky, but people finding each other when they needed it most. That was hope.

He swallowed the last bite of his sandwich, wiping the crumbs from his lips. Clark’s chest tightened as his gaze drifted upward, past the low-hanging clouds, toward the stars.

For a moment, the skyscrapers below blurred, and all he saw was Kansas. The open fields, the smell of wheat and warm earth. Ma’s cooking, Pa’s quiet wisdom at the dinner table. Even the creak of the screen door in the summer wind.

Gosh, he really missed home.

Metropolis, the farm, a world where he wasn’t always a stranger trying to fit into rules that didn’t belong to him. Heh, he even missed Guy a little, even with all of his Guyness. 

Clark breathed out slow and steady, the sound nearly lost to the hum of traffic below. “I wish you could see this, Ma, you could remind me if I’m doing something wrong.” 

Because here, in Brockton Bay, hope felt fragile.

A/N

Writing Dinah was so hard, I didn’t think it would be done in time.

Chapter Text

Amy hated mornings. She hated a lot of things, but mornings were near the top of the list, right under paparazzi, Vicky’s endless parade of perfect friends, and anyone who thought jogging was fun.

The sky today was a flat, oppressive gray that matched her mood, and a light drizzle misted down, the kind of cold, damp air that worked its way through clothing to settle in your bones and leave a rather uncomfortable stickiness behind. Amy tugged the hood of her hoodie lower over her face and glared at the girl standing across from her, who looked far too awake for this hour.

“Come on.” Taylor said, her voice way too cheerful for someone standing in the freezing Brockton Bay drizzle. She was already stretching, her long legs bending and straightening in perfect balance like some kind of yoga commercial. “It’ll be good for you.” She wore a dark old hoodie and matching tight leggings. 

Amy scowled and tugged her hoodie tighter around herself. “Define good.”

Taylor didn’t answer, instead, she just gave Amy this small, infuriating half-smile and started jogging in place. The soft pat pat pat of her sneakers on the wet pavement was almost taunting.

Amy groaned as she shot Taylor a sharp glare. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Taylor’s voice was maddeningly calm as she jogged a slow circle around the park bench. “You said you wanted to do something together. This is something.”

“I meant literally anything else. Watching a movie, eating pizza, staring at a wall.” Amy pointed at the gray clouds overhead. “This is masochism.”

Taylor just shrugged. “It clears my head.”

Amy muttered under her breath. “I’d rather keep mine cluttered.”

But she followed anyway, because,  well, she couldn’t say no to Taylor, not completely. Even if Amy’s chest was already tight with anxiety, even if she hated how awkward she felt next to someone so lanky and kind of graceful, in a nerdy way. 

Taylor wasn’t perfect like Vicky, and was a decent distraction for Amy’s attraction to her sister. That helped. It made Amy feel like maybe she wasn’t a monster for being in love with Vicky. 

Yeah right. 

Taylor set an easy pace at first, clearly holding back as Amy trudged after her, her new white sneakers splashing through shallow puddles. She’d barely made it two blocks before her lungs were on fire and her new shoes dirtied. 

“You-” Amy panted, glaring at Taylor’s back. “-are a sadist.”

Taylor glanced over her shoulder, slowing slightly. “We can stop if you need to-”

“No!” Amy snapped. Heat flushed up her neck, more from embarrassment than exertion. “I’m fine, totally fine. Just shut up!”

Taylor’s mouth twitched like she wanted to smile but didn’t. Instead, she turned back and kept running. Amy gritted her teeth and kept going, even if her legs felt like lead weights, as every step felt like a battle.

Somewhere around the five-block mark, the burning in Amy’s chest dulled into something more manageable. Her body fell into a grudging rhythm, breath in, step, breath out, step.

Taylor didn’t talk much, which Amy appreciated. The silence between them wasn’t heavy or judgmental, it just existed, like background noise.

Finally, Taylor spoke, her voice soft but steady. “When I was little, my mom and I used to run together. Just around the neighborhood, it was nice.”

Amy didn’t respond right away. She was too busy trying not to trip on a crack in the sidewalk, but something about the way Taylor said it, wistful, almost fragile, made her sigh. “Sounds better than my childhood.”

Taylor glanced back, brow furrowing slightly. “Not great, huh?”

Amy barked out a humorless laugh. “Let’s just say my family puts the ‘fun’ in dysfunction.” Being the daughter of the failed New Wave movement founders put a lot of pressure and expectations on her. 

That earned her a small, knowing smile. Taylor didn’t push, no, she just nodded, like that was enough.

They reached a small overlook, the kind of place couples probably came to make out in better parts of the city. Here, it was just a crumbling stone wall overlooking the bay’s decay, half-sunken ships, burned-out warehouses, and rusting hulks clinging stubbornly to life. 

Why would Clark choose to make this his new home? 

Taylor hopped up onto the wall and sat with one knee pulled up, breathing evenly. Amy collapsed onto a nearby bench like a puppet with its strings cut.

“See?” Taylor said, offering her a water bottle, and threw it when Amy nodded. “Not so bad.”

Amy snatched it mid-air, almost fumbling it, and chugged half in one go. “You’re evil.”

“Thank you.” Taylor grinned as she threw a lock of hair over her shoulder. 

Amy glared half-heartedly, then she sighed, leaning back against the bench. The mist had softened into a fine drizzle, cool on her overheated skin. She was going to be so sticky by the time she got home. Despite herself, Amy finally admitted “Okay. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing ever.”

Taylor’s smile widened, small and genuine. “See! That’s progress.”

Amy found herself smiling back, just a twitch of her lips, but it was enough to surprise her.

Still, who picked jogging to celebrate a month-long Friendanniversary?

As they started the jog back, Amy snarked. “So, next time, we could maybe do something that doesn’t involve me wheezing like an asthmatic eighty-year-old?”

Taylor laughed, a soft, surprised sound. “Like what?”

“Pizza, movies. Literally anything that doesn’t require cardio.” Amy said dry, her stomach decided to growl, causing her to blush slightly. 

Taylor smirked. “I’ll take that as a maybe.”

Amy rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched upward. “Don’t push it.”

By the time they reached the park entrance again, Amy was drenched and exhausted. She nearly doubled over, with her bands braced on her knees, gulping air like she’d been drowning. Taylor stood tall and calm, breathing only slightly harder than before.

Taylor handed her another water bottle. “See you tomorrow?”

Amy groaned. “If I survive the night.”

Taylor laughed again, real, warm, startling in its sincerity. Amy found herself laughing too, just a little.

As they walked home, Amy realized something. Her legs hurt, her lungs ached, but for the first time in a long time, her chest didn’t feel quite so heavy. 

Maybe Clark was right for once. 

A/N

Updates will be a tad slower now, to ensure the story progresses well and doesn’t dip in quality. We also have a TV Tropes page now!

See it here!

Chapter Text

The buzzing of the fluorescent lights felt like knives behind Dinah’s eyes. She sat slumped at her desk, her elbows pressing into the thin fake-wood surface, and fingers curled tightly at her temples. The migraine had started before she even left home, a dull, throbbing ache behind her left eye. Now, after two hours of school, it had sharpened into something raw and jagged.

Every flicker of the lights above her, every scrape of a chair on the tile, every whisper in the room felt magnified, too sharp, too loud. Dinah squeezed her eyes shut, willing the world to stop spinning, hoping that she would stop asking questions she did not need the answers for. 

The math worksheet in front of her swam in and out of focus. Numbers weren’t supposed to move, they weren’t supposed to breathe or whisper, but for her, they always did. They slithered up from the paper, crawling into her brain like living things, reshaping themselves into questions she didn’t want to ask and answers she didn’t want to know.

Will someone in this classroom get detention today?

94%.

Will Mrs. Curren spill her coffee before lunch?

100%.

Will Tyler’s parents separate before spring break?

87%.

Dinah whimpered softly, clamping a hand over her mouth to smother the sound. She hadn’t meant to ask, she never meant to. The questions simply formed, unbidden and unstoppable, and the numbers followed like knives jabbing themselves into her brain.

She stared down at her worksheet, pencil hovering over an unfinished equation, but the math problems blurred into strings of probability, twisting and curling until she wanted to scream.

Around her, the class buzzed with soft conversation. Kids shifted in their seats, tapping pencils, whispering about lunch or the latest TV shows. Just dealing with normal problems and living their normal lives. To them, this was just another dreary Brockton Bay morning.

To Dinah, it was a hurricane of futures crashing against her skull.

Will Marcus trip over his backpack on the way out of the room?

46%.

Will Jenna cry in the bathroom before gym class?

68%.

Will there be a fight in the cafeteria today?

73%.

Dinah dug her nails into her scalp, trying to block it out. 

Stop, please, just stop.

“Dinah?”

She jumped at the sudden voice, her head snapping upwardd. Mrs. Curren, her teacher, was crouched beside her desk, concern etched into her face. “Sweetheart, you don’t look well. Are you feeling okay?”

Dinah’s throat closed up, and forced herself to nod. “Just a headache.” She whispered, her words barely audible.

Mrs. Curren’s frown deepened. “Do you want to go to the nurse’s office?”

Dinah almost said yes. She wanted to crawl into a dark, quiet room and hide,but the nurse would ask questions, and questions meant answers, and answers meant trouble. No, she couldn’t risk it.

“I’ll be fine.” Dinah said quickly, forcing her voice to sound steady even though her hands were trembling under the desk.

The teacher hesitated, then gave her a small, uncertain smile. “Alright, but if it gets worse, promise me you’ll tell me, okay?”

Dinah nodded again and lowered her head, staring fixedly at her paper until Mrs. Curren walked back to the front of the room. Only then did she let her shoulders sag.

Across the aisle, a boy snickered at something on his phone, and Dinah’s vision shifted against her will.

Will he get caught with his phone?

92%.

Will his older brother join a gang before summer?

78%.

Her stomach twisted. She didn’t want to know these things, didn’t want to be forced to carry pieces of people’s lives they didn’t even know about yet. The bell rang, sharp and merciless, and the room exploded into motion.

Chairs scraped, backpacks zipped, voices rose. Dinah grabbed her bag and fled with the crowd, but the hallway was worse. Bodies pressed around her on all sides, and with each bump of a shoulder or brush of a sleeve, the probabilities flooded in.

Futures stacked on futures until they blurred into a dizzying haze.

Will someone lose their house this month?

83%.

Will a car accident happen within a mile of the school today?

57%.

Will someone die before this week ends?

81%.

Dinah staggered, clutching at a locker to keep from collapsing. Her vision tunneled as the world narrowed to a sharp point. Someone shoved past her with a mutter. “Watch it!” but she barely heard them over the pounding in her head.

A pair of girls walked by, whispering about a party. Dinah tried to focus on their words, on anything normal, but her power surged again.

Will they still be friends by next year?

6%.

Will one of them move away before fall?

49%.

Will one of them be alive in two years?

37%.

Dinah clapped her hands over her ears, but it didn’t matter. The numbers weren’t sounds, they were inside her, clawing and gnawing and filling every corner of her mind.

She needed to get out of here. 

Shoving through the crowd, she stumbled toward the side doors and burst into the school’s courtyard. The cold drizzle slapped her face, sharp and shocking. Dinah gulped the damp air like she’d been drowning, but the relief was fleeting.

The numbers followed her even here, swirling and relentless.

Will someone grab her arm before she reaches the gate?

52%.

Will the same white van be waiting outside the school again? 

80%. 

Her breath hitched. Dinah pressed herself against the rough brick wall, clutching her backpack straps like they could anchor her to this place, to this time. The world felt unsteady, like she was balanced on a crumbling ledge and was on the verge of falling over. She slid down the brick wall until she was sitting on the ground and pressed her face against her knees, wrapping her arms around herself.  

“Please, make this stop…” 

The coffee shop smelled faintly of burnt beans and fried grease. The buzz of conversation mixed with the hiss of the espresso machine and the occasional clatter of a dropped mug filled the small cafe. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was one of the few places in Brockton Bay where Clark Kent could sit back and relax with a nice cup of Joe. 

He sat in the far corner, his back to the wall and a cracked power outlet buzzing quietly by his foot. His battered laptop, its casing held together with duct tape, hummed weakly on the table. A cheap notebook lay open beside it, filled with his messy scrawl and clipped newspaper articles held down by a chipped coffee mug. Sure Clark could have bought something better, but this would work for now. 

The shop was warm compared to the drizzle outside, but that warmth came with the oppressive closeness of too many bodies and too much stale air.

Clark’s glasses were slightly fogged from the walk over. He pushed them up the bridge of his nose and hunched over his screen, trying to look like every other struggling freelancer in the city. Which, technically, he was.

Sure there was no Perry White here to bark at him about deadlines, no bustling newsroom full of shouting voices and the clack of typewriters. No Lois, or Jimmy, Cat or Steven, here it was just Clark, a handful of local blogs and small papers, and the constant struggle to sell a story before rent came due. 

He missed it more than he’d ever admit out loud. Back at the Daily Planet, there’d been a purpose for everyone. Even when the world felt like it was coming apart, there was structure, a team fighting to uncover the truth. Here, it was just him, swimming against the tide.

Clark exhaled slowly, focusing on the notes in front of him. Scribbled arrows and names connected across a crude map of Brockton Bay. The lines between them told a story of escalation, one the public wasn’t seeing yet.

The gangs went underground whenever there were reports of Superman in other countries or states. Lung and the ABB would no doubt try to find other ways to continue racketeering and open new brothels, and the Empire would be sure to try to find new ways to cause harm to innocent civilians, just because they were a different race.  

Then there was the smaller groups, like the Merchants, just a small coalition of different drug dealers and capes that made deals to protect themselves from the larger gangs, Coil and his mercenaries, which there was barely any information about, and another mercenary group ran by somebody named Faultline.

This wasn’t evening counting the other gangs and threats from across the country and world that Clark had also looked into. The Teeth, the Fallen, Nilbog, Sleeper, Simurgh, and Leviathan just to name a few. There was so much work to do, so little time, and Clark still couldn’t be everywhere at once.  

The bell over the café door jingled, letting in a gust of cold drizzle. Clark didn’t need to look up to know who it was. He’d recognized the familiar cadence of her heartbeat before she even entered.

“Clark! I’m ready for my interview!” Victoria plopped onto the seat in front of him. Heh, she really did remind him of Kara, aside from his cousin’s familiar smell of booze. 

“Miss Dallon.” Clark said as he lifted his cup of hot coffee, filled with a lot of creamer and sugar, to his lips. “Thank you for your time.” 

Still, even with all of its issues, this world’s future was bright, like a golden morning. 

A/N

Sorry this took a bit longer than I would have liked.

Chapter Text

The living room was too bright.

The sun still hadn’t come out, Brockton Bay never really had a bright sun, not the way other places did, but the TV’s glow felt sharp and invasive, stabbing into Dinah’s eyes as she sat curled up on the couch. She tugged her blanket higher over her shoulders, trying to make herself small, with her legs tucked tightly underneath her. The bowl of cereal on the coffee table had gone soggy and smush, untouched apart from a bite or two. 

Her head hurt. Not the sharp, breaking pain of a full-blown migraine, not yet, but the dull, gnawing ache that warned her one was coming, it always came.

Will she have another migraine before the end of the day?

100%.

The answer pulsed through her skull, sharp and inevitable. Dinah shuddered, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. She hadn’t even asked the question out loud, she never did, but the probabilities came anyway, unbidden and cruel, like whispers only she could hear.

Her mother’s voice drifted faintly from the kitchen, clipped and hurried, probably another phone call for Uncle Theo’s campaign. The house had become a revolving door for politicians and volunteers lately, all of them smiling too wide, speaking in voices carefully practiced to sound warm. Dinah hated them, she hated how they looked at her like she was furniture. And how this was starting to tear her family apart. Uncle Rory and Cousin Rory weren’t coming over as often now. 

Will Uncle Theo win the election?

73%.

Dinah didn’t care. She would let the city burn for all she cared. Brockton Bay wasn’t worth saving, not when she already knew what was coming for her. What was inevitable.

Someone was coming for her. 

The news droned on with the usual depressing litany of local disasters, a shooting in the Dockworkers’ territory, ABB raids, rumors of a new gang forming on the west side, and yet another ‘exclusive’ interview with a hero no one really trusted. Dinah barely glanced at the screen.

Then the program shifted abruptly, as bold red letters filled the bottom of the screen.

BREAKING NEWS

The anchor’s tone changed instantly, from tired professionalism to sharp, breathless urgency.

“We interrupt your local programming with live coverage from Vienna. Viewers are advised that the following footage may be disturbing.”

Dinah’s head snapped up, blinking at the TV. The screen cut to shaky helicopter footage.

The city was ruined. Entire blocks burned like funeral pyres, the streets torn apart and collapsing inward as if the earth itself was screaming. Smoke rose in black plumes, blotting out the sky and sirens wailed faintly beneath the chop of helicopter blades.

In the midst of the devastation, Dinah saw them.

Three figures gliding across the ruined streets, moving with an unnatural grace that made her skin crawl. They were tall, impossibly tall, with alabaster skin and hair like flowing snow. Each wore a mask depicting a different emotion, one smiling, one frowning, and one snarling. Their white dresses billowed around them, untouched by the chaos, as if they were above the very concept of the world they were destroying.

“The Three Blasphemies appeared and murdered the Austrian Minister of Commerce this morning before engaging the local Fusiliers.” The Newscaster reported. 

The feed shifted to ground-level footage. Soldiers and capes scrambled through burning streets, their attacks useless against the Blasphemies. One Blasphemy flicked a wrist, and a group of capes vanished into a wall of white light — when it faded, only charred silhouettes remained on the cracked pavement.

Dinah hugged her knees tighter. She couldn’t look away.

Will Vienna survive this?

Nothing. No percentage popped into her mind. For once, she had no answer.

Dinah’s breath quickened, panic rising. She asked again, desperate.

Will the Fusiliers defeat the Blasphemies?

The void remained. The camera jolted violently, then caught a blur of red and blue tearing through the sky. The sound came a second later, a sonic boom that rattled the helicopter’s frame.

And then he was there.

Superman.

He landed like a meteor, the shockwave ripping through the square. Rubble and smoke blasted outward, revealing his caped form standing tall between the Fusiliers and the advancing Blasphemies.

The newscaster gasped. “He’s here! Superman the Endbringer killer, he’s here! And he’s-he’s engaging the Blasphemies directly!”

The camera caught snippets of the battle. 

Superman slammed into the snarling Blasphemy with a blow so fierce it shattered nearby windows for blocks. Seconds later he was shielding a cluster of wounded civilians as white energy engulfed the street, emerging untouched while they scrambled to safety behind him.

He moved so fast even the camera’s slow motion still turned him into a blur. 

For his final, breathtaking maneuver, he grabbed the frowning Blasphemy by its throat, and launched himself skyward faster than the eye could track, and vanished into the stratosphere. The other two Blasphemies quickly followed, leaving ruined Vienna. 

The newsroom went silent except for the labored breathing of the cameraman.

Dinah’s power surged reflexively.

Will Superman win?

The void answered her again.

Her entire body went cold. She’d lived the past few months drowning in numbers, in probabilities. They had haunted her, cursed her, but they had always been there.

Until now.

Her throat went dry. She pushed harder, forcing herself to ask.

Will Superman come to Brockton Bay?

That was a dumb question, everyone knew he had been visiting the Bay more often, even if Dinah hadn’t personally seen him. 

Is Superman even real?

Nothing, not even a whisper. 

The numbers were gone when she asked a question related to him.  

Dinah clutched her blanket like a lifeline as tears welled in her eyes. The silence was worse than the constant storm she’d endured all her life. Superman wasn’t just beyond her sight,  he was beyond everything.

The last shot replayed in slow motion, Superman soaring into the clouds, his cape a streak of crimson, carrying the frowning Blasphemy into the heavens.

Dinah’s whisper trembled. “Why can’t I see you? Why can’t I see anything?”

For the first time in recent memory, the numbers stopped appearing. 

For the first time, Dinah was blind.

A/N

A bit of a shorter chapter, but I thought it was fun. 

Chapter Text

New York glimmered like a living thing beneath him. From this height, the streets were like glowing veins, the traffic lights tiny stars scattered across a grid that never slept. Clark could hear it all if he let himself, the hum of a hundred conversations, the muffled rumble of subway trains, and the sharp cries of a child laughing three blocks away. It was always there, like a tide he couldn’t shut out completely, but tonight, he forced himself to tune most of it out.

He sat on the very edge of a skyscraper’s roof, legs dangling, boots swinging above a dizzying drop. His cape draped down like a streak of crimson caught by the cold Atlantic wind. In his hands was something fragile and small, a shawarma wrap wrapped in foil, he warmed it up by using his laser vision.

Clark bit into it slowly, savoring the taste. Spiced lamb, roasted vegetables, creamy sauce. It was delicious, the lamb felt like it melted on his tongue. For once, Clark allowed his shoulders to drop as he relaxed. 

The last few days had been anything but ordinary.

He could still see Vienna in the back of his mind, the smell of smoke and scorched stone, the screams of civilians as the Blasphemies glided through the streets like wraiths. He’d moved as fast as he could without causing any damage, tearing through ruined blocks to save as many people as he could, and even then, there were losses. He’d been too late for too many.

And then there was the fight itself.

Clark’s jaw tightened as he remembered the snarling mask, the cold, alien grace of the creatures. They hadn’t fought like Behemoth with brute force and elemental destruction. The Three Blasphemies were deliberate, calculated. Every movement was like a performance, every gesture a puzzle he barely solved in time.

Even now, he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d destroyed them, or just delayed them. They weren’t human, that much Clark knew at the very least, just some advanced robot, which made him feel better after disabling them. Even Robots could choose for themselves, like Gary. 

He chewed another bite of shawarma and let his gaze drift out toward the horizon. Somewhere past the glittering skyline was Brockton Bay, his new home, in a way. It wasn’t like Kansas, it could never be like Kansas or Metropolis, but it was the place he’d chosen to protect. A place where Amy and Taylor amongst others, were safe, at least for now.

Thinking of them made his chest loosen slightly.

He pictured Taylor’s shy smile, Amy’s sharp sarcasm, the way the two of them had started to lean on each other. A blossoming friendship was always a beautiful thing, no matter what universe he was stuck in. 

The wind shifted suddenly, carrying a high-pitched whistle that only he could hear.

Clark didn’t need to turn around, he already knew exactly who it was.

Legend.

The familiar glow of his aura painted the nearby rooftop structures in soft blue-white light as he descended in a slow, controlled arc. He landed beside Clark with the quiet grace of someone utterly at home in the sky. In his hand was a plain brown paper bag that gave off the faint scent of deli meats.

“You know.” Legend said, unwrapping a sandwich with a bemused expression, “-when they told me you had a post-battle ritual, I pictured something a bit more dramatic. You know, some brooding at night as you watch over some city, monologing.” 

Clark smirked faintly. “Sometimes saving the world means grabbing takeout afterward.” Legend was the easiest member of the Triumvirate to get along with. Alexandria was polite but distant, and Eidolon just seemed to dislike Clark in general. 

Legend chuckled and settled beside him. From this distance, they must have looked like two gargoyles guarding the city. They cheered, Legend clinking his lemonade against Clark’s can of root beer. “Well, here’s to takeout, then.”

They sat in silence for a while, eating side by side as the city stretched endlessly below them, vast and fragile.

Finally, Legend broke the quiet, wiping his cheek of mustard. “Vienna was pretty bad.” He said softly. “We’ve faced the Blasphemies before, but never like that. The Fusiliers were on the edge of collapse before you arrived.”

The Fusiliers were Austria’s government sponsored Cape organization, like the Protectorate here in America. 

Clark’s hands stilled around his wrap. He didn’t answer right away, letting the weight of those words sink into the space between them.

Legend pressed on. “You didn’t just fight them, Superman. You ended it. I’ve been doing this for decades, and I’ve never seen anyone move like that. The moment you arrived people started to believe again.”

Clark breathed in deeply, letting the cold wind fill his lungs. For a moment, it smelled almost like home, almost.

“People need something to believe in.” Legend continued quietly, staring down at the glowing streets. “You gave them that today. You didn’t just save Vienna. You gave everyone watching a reason to think tomorrow might actually come.”

Clark chewed his last bite slowly, considering. “Hope’s a fragile thing.” He said finally, his voice calm but firm. “You can’t force it on people. You can't do it for them. They have to build it themselves.” He glanced at Legend, his blue eyes thoughtful. “All I can do is protect it until they’re ready to hold it on their own.”

Legend’s mouth curved into a small, knowing smile. “Spoken like someone who still believes.”

Clark chuckled softly. “I have to. If I don’t, what’s the point?”

They sat in silence for a while, both men just breathing, just existing above a city that seemed impossibly small from their perch. The glow of the skyline painted Legend’s suit in pale gold and deep blue, while Clark’s cape fluttered against the night.

Finally, Legend broke the quiet once again, his voice tinged with curiosity. “You’re different, you know. You don’t just fight like no one I’ve ever seen, you are different. You move like-like the laws of physics don’t apply to you.”

Clark’s gaze softened, but he didn’t answer. Legend didn’t know his real name, didn’t know the farm, the fields, the life he’d left behind. Being from another world entirely, this was a secret that was starting to get even harder to keep. 

“Where I’m from, my Pa used to tell me, ‘You can’t fix the whole world, son, but you can be kind to your corner of it.’ That’s all I’m doing. My corner just happens to be a bit bigger now.” Clark said as he balled the foil that had held his wrap and moved onto his small box of fries. He offered some to Legend. 

Legend let out a quiet laugh as he picked one. “A bit bigger? You just threw a monster into orbit, Superman. You treat these S-Class threats like they’re nothing. 

Clark smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. “Even monsters deserve to see the stars.”

He liked to imagine that Behemoth landed on a nice, inhospitable planet, happily looking at the night sky and enjoying his new home. 

The simplicity of that statement left Legend momentarily speechless. He looked away, clearing his throat, and took another bite of his sandwich. The two of them sat together like old friends, even though they weren’t, not really. 

Down below, sirens wailed faintly, a reminder that the work was never truly done. Clark looked out over the vast sprawl of lights and motion, and for the first time in days, he felt something ease inside his chest.

“I think-” Clark began slowly, “I think this world’s worth saving. Worth fighting for. There’s good here, Legend. I see it every day. In the smallest acts, in the people who keep going even when it’s hard.” His voice grew steadier, stronger. “I have to believe that one day, all this fighting will mean something.”

Legend studied him quietly, then nodded. “If you believe it, maybe I can too.”

Clark’s smile widened, faint but real. “That’s the idea.”

Legend finished his sandwich and stood, his aura glowing softly as he prepared to take flight. “You’ll stay here a while?”

“Yeah.” Clark said, standing as well, pulling his cape around his shoulders. “I want to watch the city a little longer.”

Legend reached out, clasping his shoulder. “Whatever you are, whoever you are, thank you.”

Clark gave him a short nod. “Tell Riley I won’t be late for our appointment next week, please.” His schedule was getting busier and busier, but Clark still needed to make time for her. 

Legend frowned, but returned the nod. “You got it.” 

Everyone deserved a chance to change. 

A/N

This is shaping up to be the longest arc in this story yet. Some short timeskips are on the way.

Chapter Text

The coffee shop was warm, almost too warm, the kind of cozy that made Amy feel like she was being smothered by a blanket she hadn’t asked for. She tugged at the sleeves of her hoodie and slouched deeper into the corner booth, glaring down at the steam curling up from her mug of tea.

Coffee was too bitter and soda was too sweet, but tea was fine at least. Taylor had ordered it for her without asking. 

Across from her, Taylor sat upright, her hands wrapped around her own cup like she was soaking in its warmth. Her dark hair framed her face in loose wisps, slightly frizzy from the foggy Brockton Bay weather, and she looked maddeningly calm for someone who had dragged Amy out into public on a weekend. She would have preferred to still be sleeping in, or doing another shift at the hospital. 

Victoria sprawled beside Taylor, taking up far too much space like she owned the booth, as if she owned the room. She had her hair done in that perfect, casual wave that probably took half an hour of effort and made it look like she’d just rolled out of bed gorgeous. Even in jeans and a hoodie, Victoria drew eyes from half the customers in the shop.

Amy hated that. Not because Victoria was beautiful, she was, painfully so, but because Amy knew how the world saw them, the perfect golden girl and her weird, bitter sister, amongst other things. 

Taylor broke the silence first. “So.” She said carefully, glancing between the two sisters, “-how’s your week been?”

Amy snorted softly. “Define ‘been.’”

Victoria rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind her. She’s just grumpy because Mom made her sit through another family dinner.”

“Grumpy?” Amy snapped, then caught herself and lowered her voice when a couple at the next table glanced over. “You try surviving an hour of Mom’s guilt trips and see how grumpy you feel afterward.” That and Vicky had decided to invite Dean of all people to join them, though that went unsaid. 

Taylor’s lips twitched like she was fighting a smile. “Sounds intense.”

“That’s one word for it.” Amy muttered, taking a sip of her tea. It scalded her tongue, because of course it did. 

Victoria leaned in, resting her chin on her hand. “You know, you could have come over to my room after. We could have hung out, watched a movie or something.”

“Yeah, because nothing screams fun like watching you and Dean be disgustingly perfect together.” Amy didn’t bother hiding the sarcasm, but she regretted it almost immediately when Taylor’s eyebrows knit together in quiet concern.

Great, now she looked like a jealous idiot.

Taylor, bless her, didn’t comment. Instead, she turned the conversation smoothly. “My dad made stir-fry last night. He burned the edges a little, but it was actually pretty good.”

Victoria perked up. “Stir-fry sounds amazing right now. All I’ve eaten today is a protein bar and this!” She waved at her untouched latte. “Because Amy guilt-tripped me about calories.”

Amy rolled her eyes. “I told you to eat something real before we left, it’s not my fault you only listen when I’m nagging.”

That earned her a genuine laugh from both Taylor and Victoria, and Amy felt a weird twist in her chest. She wasn’t used to moments like this. They felt normal. Like maybe she wasn’t the perpetual outsider, always standing in Victoria’s perfect shadow, or the rest of her families. 

For a while, they just talked. Taylor described a class project gone wrong, complete with wild hand gestures, and even Victoria cracked up when she mimed her teacher’s horrified reaction. Amy listened, adding the occasional dry remark, and for once, she didn’t feel like she had to defend herself or prove anything.

Amy hated that she was using Taylor like this. 

Later, the three of them strolled down the damp boardwalk. The drizzle hadn’t let up, turning the wooden planks slick and shiny underfoot. The air was thick with the smell of saltwater, fried food, and seagulls screaming bloody murder at anyone carrying food.

Victoria bought a funnel cake, ignoring Amy’s protests about sugar and grease. She tore off pieces and handed them out like peace offerings. Amy tried to scowl but gave in and took a bite. The powdered sugar stuck to her lips, and she hated how much she liked it.

Taylor laughed, the sound soft but genuine. “I can’t believe you dragged Amy out here.”

“Neither can I.” Amy muttered, brushing sugar off her black hoodie. “Jogging wasn’t bad enough, huh?”

Taylor’s cheeks turned faintly pink. “It’s healthy.”

Amy shot her a look. “You’re a sadist.”

Victoria smirked knowingly but stayed quiet as she tore another piece from her funnel cake. 

For a brief, fleeting moment, Amy almost felt normal. They were just three girls hanging out, without any hospital politics, no capes, and no powers, just acting as if they were normal teens. 

What a dream. 

They ended up on a bench near the edge of the boardwalk, watching the gray waves roll in. Victoria’s phone buzzed, and she groaned when she saw the caller ID.

“It’s Mom.” Vicky muttered. “This is going to take a while.”

Amy waved her off. “Go. We’ll survive.”

Victoria jogged off to find a quieter spot, leaving Amy and Taylor alone with the sound of gulls and the rhythmic slap of water against the pier.

Amy glanced at her watch and sighed. “I need to stop by the bank before I head home. I need some spare cash.” She hated dealing with ATMs and their stupid fees almost as much as she hated mornings.

Taylor didn’t hesitate. “I’ll come with you.”

Amy blinked, caught off guard. “You don’t have to, it’s just a quick errand.”

Taylor’s voice was calm but firm. “I want to. With all the gang trouble lately, it’s not safe to walk alone.”

Amy’s first instinct was to argue, to snap back something sarcastic, but beneath Taylor’s quiet words was an undeniable care, and Amy felt the fight go out of her.

“Fine.” She said, trying to sound put-upon instead of grateful. “But if this turns into another impromptu jog, I swear-”

Taylor’s small smile made her heart twist. “Deal.”

Amy stared at her a beat too long before looking away, muttering under her breath, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Amy said quickly, standing and shoving her hands into her hoodie pockets. “Let’s just get this over with once Vicky’s done.” 

Yeah, she was a horrible person. 

A/N

Hehe, it's still February which means there’s some timeline changes.

Chapter Text

The street was too quiet. Brockton Bay never truly slept. Even in the dead of night, there was always some sound, the rumble of distant freight ships, the low wail of a siren somewhere, and dogs barking at shadows, but here, on this narrow stretch of cracked pavement between Dinah’s school and home, the usual noise seemed muted, like someone had pressed a pillow over the city’s mouth. It was too quiet for five in the afternoon. 

Dinah slowed her steps, hugging her backpack straps tight. Her sneakers scuffed over broken glass and soggy newspaper, even her fancy neighborhood wasn’t safe from litter. Every sound echoed too loudly in her ears. The rain clung to her hoodie, cold and damp, making her skin itch underneath her uniform.

Her power stirred like a snake uncoiling in the back of her mind.

Will she make it home safely?

3%

The answer slammed into her skull as Dinah gasped and nearly stumbled on air. Three percent? That was so low! 

Her breathing quickened forming white puffs of mist in the chill air. She hadn’t asked that question, it had forced itself into her head. That only ever happened when something terrible was about to happen, when the future was so certain her power couldn’t help but show her.

She clamped her teeth together, fighting down a whimper.

No, no, no. Not tonight. Not now, not ever 

Dinah picked up her pace, almost running. The street was empty except for a lone trash can overturned by the curb and the faint glow of a liquor store sign three blocks back.

A car sat idle at the far intersection, its windows tinted black, and its headlights dimmed.

Will the car follow her if she turns left at the corner?

76%

Dinah’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. She didn’t turn left, no, she didn’t dare. Instead, she bolted straight ahead, her shoes splashing through rainwater pooled in potholes.

Behind her, the car’s engine growled as its tires squealed as it lurched into motion.

Dinah’s vision blurred with tears. 

Please, someone, anyone, help me.

But she already knew the answer.

Will anyone come if she screams?

1.25%

The number stabbed through her skull like a dagger. Dinah was all alone.

Up ahead, parked halfway across the sidewalk, was a white van. Her eyes widened slowly, it wasn’t just a random vehicle. Dinah knew this van. She’d seen it parked outside her school more than once, always idling, always there, never moving until she was safely home.

Now, it blocked her path completely, its side door cracked open like a hungry mouth.

Her power surged so violently she staggered.

Will the people in the van try to take her tonight?

99%

Her legs moved before she even made a conscious decision. She ran in the opposite direction.

The world narrowed to a tunnel, her pounding feet, her harsh gasps, and the slap of water as she tore through puddles. Her backpack bounced painfully against her shoulders, slowing her down. She wanted to throw it away, to be faster, but she didn’t dare stop.

Behind her, the van’s engine roared to life.

Dinah’s vision blurred with tears as she glanced over her shoulder. The van swerved into motion, its headlights cutting through the mist like twin spotlights.

Dinah’s lungs burned as she forced herself to keep moving. The evening blurred into a haze of mist, rain, and fear.

The van accelerated behind her, its headlights bouncing wildly as it sped down the narrow street. Tires shrieked as it swerved, closing the distance far too quickly. The engine’s growl reverberated through the tight urban canyon, echoing between the old, brick-faced buildings.

Will she reach safety before they catch her?

2%

Two percent, that was worse than the three from earlier! Dinah’s throat tightened as a sob tore free. She pumped her arms harder, nearly tripping on a chunk of broken concrete. Her sneakers slipped on the slick ground, but she managed to stay upright, staggering forward with sheer desperation.

“Get her!” She heard a voice roar from behind, rough and guttural.

Dinah’s heart stuttered. There wasn’t just one man, she could hear several. The sound of multiple boots hitting the pavement reached her ears, a stampede that grew louder and closer.

The van roared past her, swerving sharply to block her path. The side door slammed open with a metallic clang. Two figures leapt out, their silhouettes bulky and menacing. Their wore body armor, the kind Dinah had seen on PRT officers, and black masks that covered their faces. 

Dinah’s power surged, and she was assaulted with probabilities:

Left alley escape chance?

14%

Straight ahead.

6%

Right into the narrow courtyard.

24%

None of them were good enough.

She was going to die. They're going to take her and no one will ever find her again. Dinah veered right, her body moving almost on instinct, bolting into the dark courtyard between two run-down apartment complexes. It smelled like mildew and wet trash, but she didn’t care. 

The men followed immediately, their footsteps pounding closer.

Will they catch her in the next ten seconds?

92%

Dinah released a scream, her throat raw and broken. “Help! Somebody, please!”

But the numbers had already told her the answer. No one would be coming.

Except-

A gunshot cracked through the air. The men shouted in shock, ducking reflexively as a bullet slammed into the wall above them, spraying brick dust. Dinah fell forward, landing hard on the ground. 

A deep, angry voice echoed across the courtyard. “HEY! Nobody kidnaps a kid on my watch! Get back Pedos!”

Two shapes dropped from above like avenging angels, though in Dinah’s mind they looked more like demons as she slowly looked up. 

The first man landed hard, rolling to his feet. His chrome helmet gleamed under the rain, perfectly polished and covering the upper half of his face, though his eyes were exposed. He wore a bright red polo shirt with a dove insignia over his chest, khaki pants tucked into sturdy brown combat boots, and a blue utility belt heavy with gear and holstered pistols. His light blue gloves were clenched tight around a massive silver pistol.

The second figure was leaner and seemed quicker. He wore a full dark blue tactical suit with black and red accents, complete with a dark blue mask with eerie red trim circling the eyes and mouth. His combat boots and gloves were stark black, with his twin pistols already drawn as he pivoted with near-dancer-like grace. Throwing knives gleamed on his belt.

Dinah didn’t know who they were. All she saw were two masked strangers, one bright and loud, the other silent and deadly, and both terrifying in their sudden, violent arrival.

The first man, the one with the chrome helmet, raised his pistol and fired again, his voice carrying like a cannon blast through the rain. “Hey! Yeah, that’s right! You picked the wrong freaking girl to mess with!”

More kidnappers arrived behind her, as Dinah crawled towards the two Capes. 

The man in the chrome helmet surged forward like a freight train. His boots splashed through puddles, the rain hissing off his gear as he grabbed one of the masked kidnappers by the vest and hurled him into the side of the van, the impact leaving a deep dent in the metal. The man crumpled to the wet pavement with a sickening thud.

“Thought you were tough guys, huh?!” He thundered, distorted slightly by the strange helmet. “Try abducting somebody your own size!”

The second figure was moved like a shadow, slipping between the kidnappers with fluid, almost dance-like agility. His twin pistols barked in rapid, precise bursts. Each shot disarmed without killing, shredding guns, knocking blades from hands, and leaving the men screaming as they scrambled backward.

“Man, I love this part!” The second man shouted, his muffled voice oddly cheerful. He vaulted off a trash can, flipped in midair, and kicked a thug square in the chest, sending him sprawling into a pile of broken pallets. “Seriously, this is better than cable!”

“Focus!” The man with the helmet roared, smashing a rifle in half over his knee before swinging the jagged remains like a club.

Dinah curled into a ball behind a rusted dumpster, trembling so hard she thought her bones might shatter. Her head spun with numbers and outcomes, but they were useless now, spinning too fast to make sense.

Will they save me?

The number slammed into her mind. 

91%

For the first time tonight, that gave her a fragile thread of hope.

She risked a glance through the gap in the dumpster’s side. The man with the dove helmet fought like a living storm, every strike brutal and direct. The other figure, the one with the red-trimmed mask, was a blur of movement, unpredictable and lethal, holstering a pistol and unsheathing a knife that he buried in a kidnappers neck. 

The kidnappers, who only minutes ago had seemed unstoppable, were already breaking. Two ran for the van, shouting for retreat.

“Forget the girl! Forget it! Just get out of here!”

The helmeted man raised his massive silver pistol and fired twice. Both front tires exploded, the van sagging uselessly as rubber shredded across the street.

“No one’s going anywhere.” He snarled.

The remaining thugs froze, fear etched into every twitching muscle. Then, one by one, they broke and scattered into the mist, leaving their wounded behind.

Rain filled the sudden silence.

Dinah stayed perfectly still, afraid to breathe, as the two strangers scanned the area. The cheerful one hummed something that sounded like a TV theme song while he twirled his pistol before holstering it. “Sharing kindness is an easy feat!” 

“Check the perimeter.” The helmeted one ordered, his voice low but commanding.

“Got it, boss!” The Singing One said, saluting with mock formality before darting off around the corner.

Now, Dinah was alone with the first man. He turned toward her, and even though his body language softened slightly, he was still a towering, terrifying figure in the dim streetlight.

“Hey, kid.” He said, his voice rough but not unkind. “You hurt? Can you stand?”

Dinah’s throat worked, but no words came out. She didn’t know who these men were, only that they were dangerous, dangerous enough to scare away the monsters trying to take her.

The man extended a gloved hand toward her.

“C’mon. You’re safe now.”

Dinah didn’t dare ask her power if that was true. For once, she just reached out and took his hand.

The Helmet guy gave her a small smile, which Dinah looked past as her eyes focused on the carnage behind him. At least four kidnappers were wounded, with one dead, his lifeblood gushed onto the concrete. Dinah’s eyes widened slowly as she felt her lunch climb up her throat.

She vomited all over the Helmet guy’s shoes. 

“Aw man, I just got these.”  

A/N

Hehehehehehe. 

Chapter Text

Amy trudged along the cracked sidewalk, her hands shoved deep into the pocket of her hoodie. Mom had ended up calling Vicky home, which left her alone with Taylor, who would likely turn this into an impromptu jogging session. 

“This is stupid.” Amy muttered, glaring at the gray sky as if it had personally offended her. “I could be home right now, or, you know, literally anywhere else.”

Taylor walked beside her with her hood pulled up and her thin frame hunched against the wind. She didn’t seem nearly as bothered, though the corners of her mouth quirked upward in the faintest hint of amusement. “You said you needed to go to the bank.”

“I said I had to.” Amy corrected, rolling her eyes. “Not that I wanted to, there’s a big difference there.”

Taylor gave her a sidelong glance. “You could’ve gone alone.”

“Yeah.” Amy grumbled. “But then I’d have been alone and bored. At least this way, if I’m miserable, you get to share it.”

Taylor’s laugh was soft but genuine. “You’re a terrible friend.”

“Thanks.” Amy said flatly, though the corner of her own mouth twitched. “You’re the one who volunteered to come with, so that’s your fault.” 

They turned a corner and the bank came into view, a squat, modern building of glass and concrete, its brightly lit interior visible even from the street. People bustled in and out beneath the overhang, umbrellas bobbing like colorful mushrooms.

Amy slowed her steps, frowning. “It’s crowded.”

“It’s a bank.” Taylor said with a shrug. “Kind of comes with the territory, dontcha think?”

Amy grimaced, slowing further as they reached the crosswalk. “Yeah, but why does this many people need to be here right now? Don’t they have online banking or something?”

Taylor smirked faintly. “Maybe they like standing in line, like someone I know.” 

“Sounds like masochists.” Amy muttered under her breath.

“I hear masochists and sadists get along very well.” Taylor chirped as she opened the door. 

They stepped inside, immediately enveloped in the warm, too-bright atmosphere of the bank. The smell of coffee mixed with faint disinfectant, and the low hum of a dozen conversations filled the space. People shuffled forward in an orderly line toward the counters, some with impatient looks, and others chatting quietly.

Amy’s shoulders hunched automatically as she scanned the room. A mother with a stroller near the front, a pair of businessmen in suits murmuring to each other, and a bored-looking security guard standing by the door, one hand resting on his belt.

Taylor noticed her tension and nudged her lightly. “Relax. We’ll be in and out. Do whatever you need to do and maybe we’ll grab a coffee on the way back home.”

Amy let out a sharp exhale. “Fine, let's just  get this over with.”

They shuffled into line, Taylor fiddling absently with the cuff of her sleeve while Amy fished out her deposit slip. The curly haired girl glanced around the room, her eyes staying on each person for a bit too long. 

Amy caught Taylor staring. “What?”

“Nothing.” Taylor said quickly. “I’m just people watching.”

Amy snorted. “Creeper.”

A rather large television sat off to the side, playing the news. On the screen, the news anchor’s voice carried a note of reverence as they spoke over a live feed. The footage showed Clark in his full heroic attire, standing knee-deep in thick, muddy water. Villagers clung to the wreckage of what had once been their homes as rain continued to pour in sheets from the gray, storm-choked sky.

Clark moved quickly, lifting fallen trees and boulders as though they were little more than driftwood, creating pathways for rescue teams and clearing roads for emergency vehicles. At one point, the camera caught him shielding a group of terrified children from a sudden landslide, his broad frame taking the brunt of the impact as if it were nothing. When the mudslide settled, he gently ushered the children to safety, even taking a moment to kneel and speak softly to one boy clutching a soaked teddy bear.

The caption at the bottom of the screen read. 'SUPERMAN AIDS REMOTE PHILIPPINE VILLAGES AFTER LANDSLIDE DISASTER.’

Of course he was, ironic considering his speech about Amy not overworking herself. She scoffed internally and shook her head with a small smile. 

The line moved forward. They were halfway to the counter when the first subtle rumble passed through the floor beneath their feet. Amy froze as she turned towards Taylor. 

“Did you feel that?” She asked, her voice low.

Taylor’s eyes widened slightly as she nodded “Yeah.”

Another rumble, stronger this time. The pens on the counter rattled, a distant coffee cup tipped over, and someone near the front gave a startled yelp.

Then the front doors blew inward with a deafening crash.

Shadows exploded into the room, thick and suffocating, plunging the lobby into pitch black. Screams erupted instantly, overlapping with the shrill alarm of the security system.

“Everyone down!” A voice bellowed through the dark, commanding and cold. “Hands where we can see them, now!”

Amy’s heart lurched. She grabbed Taylor and shoved her to the ground, throwing herself over her friend as chaos erupted around them.

Out of the darkness came the growl of massive creatures, wet, guttural snarls that sent a jolt of terror down Amy’s spine. The stench of wet fur filled the air as heavy paws struck tile.

Amy’s breath caught in her throat as she held Taylor even tighter. The noise in the room dissolved into pure panic, shouting, crying, the frantic rustle of bodies hitting the ground.

Somewhere to the left, something growled again, deeper this time, almost mechanical. The sound of claws scraping against tile echoed through the oppressive darkness.

“Dogs.” Taylor hissed under her breath.

Amy blinked, confused and terrified. “What?”

“They have dogs.” Taylor whispered back, barely audible over the chaos. “Big ones.”

The stench of wet fur grew stronger as the growls circled the hostages, one on each side of the room. A terrified scream rang out, cut off abruptly by a yelp and the heavy thud of a body being tackled.

A cold, sharp voice boomed through the darkness. “Nobody moves unless you want to lose a limb! Everyone stay down and stay quiet.”

A shadow began to coalesce near the shattered doorway. Amy squinted, trying to make sense of the swirling black mist. It wasn’t just darkness, it was alive, tendrils of pitch-black fog twisting like smoke given purpose. Out of it stepped a tall figure clad entirely in black motorcycle leathers and wearing skull-faced helmet that gleamed faintly in the dim emergency lights.

Taylor’s breath caught. “Grue.”

Amy turned toward her. “You know him?”

Taylor’s lips tightened, her face pale. “Everyone knows him.”

Huh, Amy didn’t know that Taylor was some cape geek, considering she had no idea who Amy was when they first met. She formed a small frown. Amy didn’t know much about this Grue, only that he was a part of some small team of thieves. Several more figures emerged from the shadows. 

The first wore tight leggings with a loose fitting white shirt, their identity hidden by a Venetian style mask and a coronet. Beside him was a girl in a skintight black and lavender suit, along with a domino mask that revealed her green eyes. She had a large, sardonic grin as she scanned the room. 

“That’s right people, if you do what we say this’ll all be over by dinnertime.” The girl said, as two more figures appeared behind her. One wore a heavy jacket with a cheap dog mask, and the other was some hodgepodge of a machine. 

“Hellhound.” Taylor mumbled, keeping her head down as they crawled closer to the other hostages, under the watch of the Twink. 

The girl in lavender grinned wider, hands resting on her hips as she addressed the terrified crowd as the dogs corralled them. “Here’s how this is gonna work, folks. My friends and I are gonna take what we came for. You all get to keep your lives, assuming you play nice. Anyone decides to be a hero-” She gestured lazily toward the snarling beasts circling the hostages. “-and Fluffy and Fang here get some extra playtime. Got it?”

Amy bit the inside of her cheek. 

Where was Vicky and Clark when she needed them? 

A/N

Happening at the same time as Dinah’s kidnapping. 

Chapter Text

Amy did her best to keep her head down and avoid drawing any attention towards herself and Taylor. She kept her eyes on the cold tile floor, focusing on the faint scuff marks and scattered bits of broken glass rather than the hulking silhouettes of the Undersiders moving through the lobby. Every instinct screamed at her to do something, to fight back, to protect Taylor and the terrified strangers huddled around them.

But she wasn’t Vicky. Amy didn’t have the raw power or the blinding confidence to take on a team like this. Even with her healing abilities, Amy knew that if she acted now, she’d just get them both killed before she could do anything useful.

Her hand tightened around Taylor’s, feeling her friend’s trembling fingers interlocked with her own. Taylor’s breathing was shallow and ragged, but she stayed quiet, keeping her face hidden beneath her hood as they crouched among the other hostages.

Grue’s deep, distorted voice filled the darkness like rolling thunder. “Keep quiet and nobody dies or gets hurt. You’ve got one job, stay on the ground and don’t even think about being a hero.”

The mechanical whine of Trainwreck’s limbs rose over his words, accompanied by the sickening screech of tearing metal as he ripped the last barrier to the vault completely free. The sound set Amy’s teeth on edge and sent a fresh wave of fear rolling through the crowd. Someone whimpered; a child began to cry, muffled almost immediately by a frantic parent.

Tattletale’s lighter, mocking tone followed soon after, echoing strangely in the fog-shrouded room.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Be good little citizens, and we’ll be out of your hair before you even miss your savings.”

Hellhound sat on the ground as her three large mutant dogs circled her, guarding the hostages. Regent, as they called the twink, scanned over them casually, disdain obvious on his lips.  

“Bitch, Trainwreck, get ready. The PRT and Wards are setting up outside.” Tattletale said suddenly, sitting on top of a clerk’s desk. 

Huh? When did they arrive? They should have heard the sirens blocks away, but considering the windows were covered by some kind of darkness, that was likely the reason they couldn’t hear the outside world. What else could Grue’s darkness do? 

Amy’s stomach twisted as the reality sank in. Grue’s darkness wasn’t just to blind them, it cut off everything. Sight, sound, maybe even smell. They were trapped in a suffocating bubble, completely isolated from the outside world.

Which meant the PRT and Wards could be surrounding the building right now, preparing to breach, and none of the hostages would know until it was too late. Even Clark with his superhearing likely wouldn’t hear them. 

Her mind spun, panic clawing at the edges of her thoughts. What happens if they come in shooting? Amy’s grip on her friend’s trembling hand tightened instinctively. Surprisingly, Taylor remained calm, staring down at the villains beneath her glasses. Why did she stop freaking out? 

The mutant dogs began growling louder, low and guttural, their massive forms shifting restlessly. Even without seeing them clearly, Amy could feel the threat they posed, a mix of wet fur and raw muscle circling like wolves. The hostages huddled tighter, a mass of silent terror.

“Grue.” Hellhound’s voice cut through the darkness, sharp and tense. “They’re getting closer.”

The black fog thinned slightly as Grue’s distorted voice rumbled back, calm but edged with urgency.

“Hold them steady. Regent, keep an eye on the hostages.”

Regent chuckled darkly. “Oh, I am.”

Amy flinched at the implication but didn’t dare look up. She forced herself to stay small, invisible. The last thing she wanted was his attention.

From beyond the walls came the faintest sound, barely a whisper through the dark, a bullhorn.

“This is the PRT! Undersiders, you are surrounded! Release the hostages and surrender immediately!”

Gasps rippled through the civilians and Amy’s heart slammed against her ribs. The PRT was here, but if they breached now, everyone inside could be slaughtered before they even knew what was happening.

Tattletale laughed, light and mocking, like the entire situation was a game “Right on schedule. See, people? Heroes are so predictable. Always rushing in to play savior.”

She hopped down from the desk and strolled through the lobby with unsettling ease, brushing past frightened hostages like they weren’t even there. “Time to show them what happens when they try to play in our sandbox.”

“Bitch.” She called out sharply. “Dogs ready?”

Hellhound stood up as she stretched her neck. “Been ready.” 

“The Protectorate isn’t here.” Taylor whispered beside Amy, low enough that she was barely able to catch it. 

Amy froze slightly as she whispered back. “What do you mean?” 

“They don’t stand a chance against the full Protectorate.” Taylor mumbled under her breath. “They would’ve been in and out otherwise.” 

Amy’s eyes widened as she turned towards Hellhound, who approached the front door with her three mutant dogs. Trainwreck joined her with a few loud and powerful stomps. 

Hellhound whistled sharply, a sharp, cutting sound that made Amy flinch. The three monstrous dogs immediately tensed, their grotesque forms crouching low as saliva dripped from slavering jaws. Their eyes glimmered faintly in the thinning darkness, locked on the front entrance like predators anticipating the kill.

Amy’s stomach twisted tighter. You didn’t need to be a Thinker to know they were preparing for a fight.

Tattletale’s voice came again, sharper now, with an edge of command that cut through the chaos.

“Grue, keep the perimeter sealed. Don’t give the PRT a single opening. If they want in, they’re going to have to chew through us.”

Grue’s reply was a low rumble. The darkness seemed to pulse in response, pressing in on all sides until Amy felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her grip on Taylor’s hand tightened painfully. Taylor didn’t flinch. She kept her head down, calm in a way that was almost unnatural.

Amy swallowed hard. “Taylor.” She whispered, her voice shaking. “We-we need to get closer to the back. If the fighting starts-”

Taylor’s hood tilted slightly toward her, just enough to catch the faint reflection of the emergency lights on her glasses.

“No.”  She whispered back, almost too softly to hear. “Moving now will draw attention. Just wait.”

Amy’s pulse thundered in her ears. Wait? Wait for what?

Outside, the bullhorn blared again, louder this time. “Undersiders! You have three minutes to comply before we move in!”

The hostages gasped as a wave of panic spread through the crowd. Someone near Amy sobbed openly, a sound quickly smothered by a trembling parent’s hand.

Tattletale laughed again, but this time there was a dangerous undertone beneath her mockery.

“Three minutes? How generous. They really think we’ll fall for such an obvious lie. We have 90 seconds before they try to breach.”

She turned sharply to Regent. “Make sure no one tries anything stupid. I don’t care how you do it.”

Regent gave a theatrical bow. “With pleasure.”

Amy froze, praying he wouldn’t come near them. Taylor subtly shifted her position to keep her body between Regent’s wandering gaze and Amy, like she’d anticipated the danger before Amy had even processed it.

The seconds crawled by, thick with tension. Every creak of the building, every growl from Hellhound’s beasts, every grinding movement of Trainwreck’s machinery built the pressure higher as Amy felt a migraine start to form. 

Then, without warning, the front doors rattled violently. Grue’s voice boomed through the darkness, thunderous and commanding.

“They’re coming!”

Hellhound barked a guttural order, and the dogs surged forward, claws screeching against the tile as they charged past the front doors and into the darkness. Trainwreck slammed both metal fists together, which made a sound like a cannon blast, and followed.

Amy’s breath got caught in her throat. This was it. The PRT was about to storm the building, and there was nowhere to hide.

Taylor leaned closer, whispering so quietly Amy almost didn’t catch it. “If they breach, stay down. Don’t run. Don’t move. Just trust me.”

Amy turned her head, panic flashing in her eyes. “Trust you? With what?”

Taylor gave her a wink. “Your life of course.” 

They were interrupted by a foxlike giggle. Amy slowly looked up, coming face to face with Tattletale, who formed a large grin. 

“My-my, what luck.” Tattletale said, her voice greasy. “Thank you for joining us, Panacea.” 

Fu-

A/N

My first time writing the Undersiders, hopefully I’ll do them justice. 

Chapter Text

The name hit Amy like a thunderclap. Her stomach dropped, and it felt like ice replaced the blood in her veins. She knew, Tattletale knew who Amy was. Beside her, Taylor stiffened slightly. Amy felt her friend’s grip tighten around her trembling hand, grounding her for a fleeting second.

Amy ducked her head lower, praying to be invisible. Maybe if she didn’t move, maybe if she stayed perfectly still-

“Oh, come on.” Tattletale mocked, her laugh sharp and cruel. “You really think you can hide from me? From everyone here watching? That nervous twitch of your hand, the way you keep checking everyone’s pulse without even realizing it. You’re practically glowing with secrets.”

“Don’t listen to her.” Taylor whispered fiercely. “That’s what she wants.” 

Amy clenched her jaw, trying to swallow her panic, but the villain’s words sliced right through her fragile composure.

Tattletale’s voice rose, gleeful. “You’ve done such a good job keeping yourself in the background, haven’t you? Always letting Victoria take the spotlight while you hide in the shadows. The perfect, quiet little healer, never making waves.”

“Shut up.” Amy rasped, voice trembling with anger and fear.

“Don’t.” Taylor’s voice was sharp, commanding in a way that startled Amy. “That’s exactly what she’s pushing for.”

“Oh-ho-ho.” Tattletale’s amusement dripped like poison. “Fiery little thing, aren’t you? I can work with that.”

Amy’s head snapped up just enough to see Tattletale’s silhouette in the swirling darkness. The girl’s green eyes glimmered like foxfire as she shifted her attention to Taylor. “And who’s this? You’re interesting. Hiding under that hood, playing the meek little hostage, when really you’re just biding your time.”

Taylor didn’t move, her face carefully neutral beneath the hood.

“Oh, don’t give me that blank look,” Tattletale teased. “You’re sharp, almost too sharp. The way you keep watching exits, counting the dogs’ rotations, reading every little movement in this room. You think you’re clever, but guess what?” She leaned forward, voice dropping to a dangerous purr. “You’re not better than me.”

Taylor’s jaw tightened, but she stayed silent.

Tattletale smirked, pressing harder. “Let me guess. Outcast, right? No friends, no one to sit with at lunch. Daddy issues? Definitely. Mommy issues? Absolutely.” She tilted her head mockingly. “You’re the kind of girl who thinks she’s a wolf, but deep down? You’re just a scared little owl who wished she mattered.”

Taylor’s fingers twitched in Amy’s grasp, but she didn’t break. “You’re wasting your breath.” She said evenly. “All this effort just to make yourself feel big, it’s pathetic.”

Tattletale’s smirk froze for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Amy to realize Taylor’s words had struck home.

Then the villain laughed, louder and harsher than before. “Oh, I like you.” She said, circling them like a predator. “You’ve got bite. Too bad that won’t save you. Maybe in another life we’d be friends.”

Amy couldn’t hold back anymore. “Leave her alone!” She shouted, drawing Tattletale’s focus back to her.

The villain’s grin turned razor-sharp. “Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ve got enough venom for both of you.”

Tattletale turned to Grue and Regent, who was now lazily lounging on a couch. “Send the rest of the hostages out the front, we have more than enough with Panacea here.” 

“Got it.” Grue answered as Regent ignored Tattletale for a minute before sighing loudly and followed his fellow criminal’s lead. 

The other hostages looked up sharply as Grue began herding them toward the front entrance, his distorted voice booming through the thick fog. “Move slowly, and keep your hands where we can see them.”

Taylor’s grip on her hand tightened like a vise. Amy could feel the tremor of tension running through her friend’s body, a silent warning to stay calm.

“Taylor-” Amy whispered, fear spiking in her chest.

“Stay quiet.” Taylor’s hooded head shifted just enough to catch Amy’s panicked glance. “We’ll figure this out.”

Amy’s breath hitched, but she nodded, swallowing down her rising panic. She’d faced parahumans before, but never like this. Not when she was the target. What could she do? Amy could grab onto Tattletale and threaten to give her cancer, warts or worse, but her entire costume didn’t reveal a hint of skin. She’d have to grab her by the neck, and Amy was far too slow to do that. 

As the last of the civilians were shoved out the door and into the battlefield outside, Regent lazily strolled back into the room, twirling a knife between his fingers. “There, all done. So what now, boss? You wanna keep playing twenty questions with Little Miss Sunshine and her little friend?”

Tattletale’s smile widened, sharp as broken glass. “Oh, I have so many questions for our guests here. But first…” Her eyes flicked to Taylor, her tone turning mocking and cruel. “Let’s talk about you.”

Taylor stiffened but didn’t speak.

“What? All your bravado gone?” Tattletale tutted as she looked down at them. “What happened to that confidence from earlier? Did it get lost in that locker you were shoved in.” 

The words landed like a sucker punch. Amy’s mind blanked as the implications sank in. She glanced at Taylor, but her friend’s hood concealed her expression. Even so, Amy could feel Taylor’s body go rigid beside her, her hand going cold and clammy in Amy’s grasp.

Taylor didn’t speak nor did she flinch, but Amy felt it, a subtle, trembling quake beneath her skin, as if she was going to burst out of anger. 

Tattletale’s grin sharpened, sensing blood in the water. “Oh, I see now. You play the meek little mouse, but you’ve got a whole nest of trauma under that hood. Poor little Taylor, bullied and broken, just another nobody shoved aside by the world.” She tilted her head, mock sympathy dripping from every word. “But here you are, sitting next to the healer princess herself, like maybe you matter for once.”

“Stop it.” Amy snapped, her voice cracking under the strain. “Leave her alone!”

“Oh, I’m just getting started.” Tattletale’s voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “See, Amy, you and your little friend here aren’t so different. You hide behind your sister, she hides behind that hood. Both of you pretending to be something you’re not.”

Taylor finally spoke, her voice low but steady. “You don’t know me.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Tattletale purred, leaning closer. “I know everything about you. The way you move, the way you breathe, the way your heart races every time you think about lashing out.” Her smile turned cruel. “That anger simmering under your skin? You think you’re hiding it, but it’s screaming at me loud and clear.”

Amy’s stomach twisted as she looked between them. She couldn’t heal this kind of wound.

Tattletale straightened, spreading her arms dramatically. “And let’s not forget our star of the evening.” She turned back to Amy, her tone dripping with mock reverence. “Panacea, the golden child. Adopted daughter of the Brockton Bay Brigade, the shining little healer who can do no wrong.”

Amy’s throat tightened. “Everyone knows I’m adopted.” 

“True, but have you ever wondered who your Father is? Your real, biological daddy.” Tattletale’s voice became almost sing-song as she delivered the killing blow. “That perfect family that claims you’re one of them? It isn’t yours. Your real daddy isn’t some noble hero. He’s Marquis, one of the worst villains the Bay had ever seen.” 

The words sliced through the fog like a blade. Amy’s entire body went cold. She wanted to deny it, to scream, to strike Tattletale down, but her tongue felt like lead.

Taylor’s grip on her hand tightened fiercely, but she didn’t look away from Tattletale. “You talk too much.”

“Oh, honey.” Tattletale crooned, eyes glimmering with malice, “I talk because it works. Look at her and look at you. Every word, every little truth, it tears you both apart. I’m a tattletale, not a liar.” 

Amy’s breathing grew ragged, the edges of her vision blurring. She had no plan, no escape route, and Tattletale was still circling, still talking, still peeling them open piece by piece like a sadistic surgeon.

Her lungs felt like they were collapsing, each breath sharp and painful as Tattletale’s words sank deep. Marquis. Her father was Marquis. She had spent her entire life distancing herself from becoming a villain like him, and now, here it was, thrown in her face in front of Taylor, in front of the Undersiders.

Amy’s heart thundered in her chest. She could feel Taylor’s steady grip on her hand, but it felt like an anchor barely holding her above a flood of panic.

Tattletale was still talking, still circling like a shark. “You’ve spent years pretending to be one of them, Amy. Pretending to be good, but blood doesn’t lie, and you’ve got a villain’s blood running through your veins.”

Amy’s voice came out broken, a whisper that trembled. “Stop…”

“Oh no, no, no.” Tattletale’s tone turned mocking and sharp. “We’re just getting to the best part! The moment when the golden healer realizes the truth about herself and starts to break.” 

Amy’s body shook. She couldn’t take this, not here, not now, not when they were still trapped and alone. Her vision blurred with tears and panic, the darkness closing in tighter with every heartbeat.

Taylor shifted beside her, her hood tilting up just enough for Amy to see a flash of fierce determination in her friend’s eyes. “Amy,” she whispered urgently. “You need to breathe. Listen to me, focus on my voice.”

“I-” Amy’s throat caught. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think. She felt like she was drowning in the ocean. 

“Amy!” Taylor snapped, sharp enough to cut through the fog of panic for a split second. “You are not alone.”

Amy clung to those words, even as her chest heaved and her mind screamed, and then, in the middle of that swirling chaos, one desperate thought formed, clear and powerful.

Clark.

Amy shut her eyes tight and whispered his name, so soft it was almost lost in the noise. “Superman…please, help me.” 

A plea escaped her throat, raw and instinctive, like a prayer whispered into the void.

Somewhere beyond the suffocating darkness, beyond the chaos of the muffled battlefield outside, a sound cut through like a razor, the faint rush of air, distant but growing. The hairs on Amy’s arms stood on end as hope, fragile and trembling, sparked to life inside her chest. He heard her! 

Tattletale smirked, completely oblivious to what was coming. “Oh, is that a prayer I hear? Sorry, sweetheart. No gods are coming to save you.”

Amy’s trembling lips curled into the barest hint of a defiant smile. “He’s not a god.”

The ceiling above them then shuddered with a thunderous boom and dust began to rain down upon them. The whole building seemed to groan in protest as something, no, someone, landed with the force of a meteor.

And for the first time since this whole nightmare began, Amy released a sob of relief as she made out the yellow and red symbol of the stylized S. 

“He’s Superman.”

A/N

I thought this chapter was going to take longer to write.

Chapter Text

The shockwave tore through Grue’s fog, scattering it like smoke and letting in harsh, blinding daylight. Amy blinked rapidly, her vision swimming as the dust cleared and froze in her spot. 

A figure stood in the center of the destruction. A cape rippled behind them, crimson and unmistakable. The stylized ‘S’ gleamed gold and red on their chest, catching the light like a promise. Relief surged through Amy so violently it was almost painful. “Superman.”

The figure straightened, and Amy’s heart stuttered. Something was wrong.

This wasn’t Clark.

The cape was the same, crimson and bold, and the chest emblem gleamed gold and red but the frame was smaller, more slender. The shoulders were less broad, and their stance subtly different. As the dust and debris started to settle, dirty blonde hair flowed like sunlight as if there was an imaginary wind. 

It was a woman.

The newcomer straightened her posture, her face revealed. She was young, not much older than Amy herself, with sharp blue eyes that scanned the room like a hawk’s. And like Clark, she was unnaturally gorgeous. She immediately vomited off to the side, grabbing a vase filled with sunflowers.  

Amy’s brain couldn’t process it. “Wha-what is…?”

“No way.” Taylor breathed beside her, voice tight with disbelief. 

Tattletale’s confident smirk flickered, replaced with a flash of genuine unease. “Uh, Grue? Tell me that’s not who I think it is.”

Grue took a step back, his posture shifting instinctively defensive. Even Regent stopped spinning his knife, his face finally serious.

The Girl-Clark groaned as she looked around with slight confusion as she wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her beige trenchcoat. “What the fuck is going on here man? And where’s my dog?” 

Clark never swore, and he wasn’t this messy, even when he fought against the Nine and Behemoth! Who was this girl? 

The Doppelganger turned her attention to them, her eyes darting between Amy, Taylor and Tattletale. “Who the hell are you guys? And who puts a bank near the entrance of an interdimensional portal? Fuck man, Mr. T sucks ass.” 

Tattletale froze as she stared at the newcomer, her eyes wide and filled with confusion. Amy licked her dry lips when Taylor moved with a suddenness that made Amy’s heart jump into her throat. One second they were crouched together, frozen under the weight of shock and confusion, and the next Taylor surged forward with surprising strength before Amy could even try to stop her. 

“They’re villains who’re keeping us hostage!” She shouted, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.

Amy’s breath caught, and before she could react, Taylor slammed into Tattletale. The two girls went sprawling to the cold tile floor, limbs tangling. Tattletale yelped, more startled than hurt as her hands scrambled to find leverage. 

“Taylor!” Amy screamed, half in fear, half in disbelief.

The move had been reckless, wild, so unlike Taylor. She was supposed to be quiet, careful, the girl who avoided conflict at all costs, but now she was practically feral, her hood slipping back to reveal wide, determined eyes as she wrestled with the smirking blonde villain.

Grue cursed, his voice distorted and booming as he lurched toward them. “Regent, stop them!”

Regent didn’t move immediately. His usual detached amusement was gone, replaced by visible tension. Instead, his knife hovered in his hand, but he hesitated as his eyes flicked to the newcomer, the strange, not-Clark girl standing in the wreckage and Taylor, who punched Tattletale in the face. The sound was sharp and ugly, echoing through the ruined bank lobby. Tattletale let out a startled cry, twisting beneath Taylor’s weight as she tried to shield her face.

Grue bellowed, his modulated voice reverberating like rolling thunder. “Regent, now!”

Regent’s fingers twitched around his knife, but he still didn’t move. His usual smirk had been replaced by a thin, uncertain line. 

“This is…uh, above my pay grade, man.” Regent muttered. His voice was shaky for once, stripped of its usual sarcasm. Grue shook his head and moved to help Tattletale, when Amy finally scrambled to help her friend, placing her hands on the purple villain’s throat. 

“Another step and I’ll give her every cancer I can think of.” Amy said darkly. 

Grue froze mid-step, his massive frame going rigid at Amy’s words. The swirling tendrils of darkness around him faltered, thinning slightly as the weight of her threat sank in.

Tattletale let out a strangled sound beneath Taylor, one hand clawing at Amy’s wrist while the other shielded her throat. Her mocking grin was gone, replaced by wide, panicked eyes.

“You wouldn’t.” She rasped, her voice hoarse and desperate. “You’re a hero, Panacea. You don’t kill.”

Amy’s hands trembled, her heartbeat hammering in her ears. “Try me.” Her voice came out low and dark, almost unrecognizable even to herself. “You threaten me and my best friend, and everyone else here. If you think I won’t do what I have to, you’re dead wrong.”

Taylor didn’t say a word. Her hood had fallen completely back, her wild, intense eyes locked on Tattletale as she held the villain down with brutal efficiency. Taylor’s breathing was ragged, her chest heaving as though she’d been holding this rage back for years.

Regent raised his hands slowly, knife dangling uselessly between his fingers. “Whoa, okay, this is getting a little too real.” He said, his tone shaky. “I don’t get paid enough for cancer threats, guys.”

Grue’s voice was low and dangerous. “Panacea if you do this, there’s no going back.”

“Back to what?” Amy snapped, her grip tightening until Tattletale choked. “Back to pretending we’re safe? Back to patching up people you and your friends hurt while you laugh about it?” She shook her head, teeth bared. “No. You crossed a line.”

The not-Clark girl took a step forward, visibly tense but still utterly confused. Her blue eyes darted between everyone like she was trying to solve a puzzle written in a language she didn’t understand.

“Okay, seriously.” The Stranger said, her voice rising. “Someone explain what the hell is happening before I start throwing people through walls. Who are the bad guys here? Because right now, everyone looks sketchy as hell.”

Grue growled, his darkness swirling again, thicker and more aggressive. “We’re leaving,” he ordered, his voice vibrating with rage and panic. “Now.”

“No one’s leaving.” Amy’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp as a scalpel. She met Grue’s faceless gaze without flinching. “Not until you surrender to the PRT.” She turned to the new Blonde. “Please, help us.” 

For a moment, the entire room seemed to hold its breath.

“Help you?” The Blonde repeated, her voice sharp with disbelief. “I don’t even know what planet this is, let alone who any of you people are!” Her tone cracked with frustration as she gestured wildly at the chaos around her. “I literally just dropped into whatever the hell this is, and you want me to pick sides? Look, I’m just here to find my cousin.” 

Amy swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay steady. “They’ve taken hostages. They were going to kill people, kill us.” Her voice trembled, but she kept speaking, desperately trying to cut through the fog of confusion. “Please, just…stop them.”

The stranger blinked, her jaw tightening.

Tattletale seized the moment, choking out a hoarse laugh despite Amy’s hand still gripping her throat. “Oh, this is rich.” She rasped. “Panacea begging for backup. You don’t even know who you’re talking to, do you?” Her green eyes gleamed with cruel delight despite the danger. 

“Shut up!” Taylor snapped, pressing Tattletale’s shoulders into the cold tile with renewed force.

The blonde newcomer’s gaze swung toward Tattletale, narrowing. “You’re a real piece of work, huh?” She said flatly. Her voice dropped into something colder, harder. 

Grue shifted uneasily, his darkness swirling thicker around him like a defensive shroud. “I don’t know who you are-” he growled, his voice distorted, “-but if you get in our way, you’ll regret it.”

The blonde didn’t even flinch. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, almost curious. “Yeah, you’re definitely a villain.” She muttered under her breath. “This is your last chance. Let. Them. Go.”

Regent took a cautious step back, raising his hands. “Hey, uh, maybe we should listen to her. I’m not looking to fight that, man.”

Grue didn’t answer. 

Amy’s chest tightened painfully. This was spiraling out of control, and if someone didn’t act now, it would explode into violence. She locked eyes with the newcomer, letting all her desperation show. “Please.” She whispered, voice breaking. “You don’t have to understand everything. Just help us survive this.”

For the first time, the blonde’s expression softened. A flicker of something, maybe sympathy? She glanced at Amy, then at Taylor’s furious determination, and finally at the terrified civilians still cowering near the shattered entrance.

“Fine.” The Blonde said, her voice like steel. “I’ll help.”

And before anyone could react, she blurred forward, moving faster than Amy’s eyes could follow. One moment she was standing in the rubble, the next she was right in front of Grue, a single finger connected with his chest in a devastating strike that sent him crashing backward through a wall.

“Eh, don’t worry about it, he’ll live.” The Blonde said with a grin as she turned to Regent. “Maybe.” 

Regent didn’t need to be told twice. The moment Grue’s body disappeared through the crumbling wall, Regent’s knife clattered to the floor and his hands shot up higher than ever before, trembling.

“Yeah, okay, cool, uh…” He stammered, backing away toward the exit. “I’m done, totally done. You win. Don’t punch me through a wall, don’t laser me, don’t-don't do anything. I surrender.”

He dropped to his knees, breathing hard, his usual smug grin nowhere to be found. “I am officially done with this job. You people are insane.”

Amy stared, her chest heaving. The room was a wreck, shattered counters, splintered tile, and half the ceiling sagging precariously. Taylor hadn’t moved from where she still pinned Tattletale, but her breathing was ragged, her hood completely off now. Her eyes blazed with a mixture of fury and confusion. 

The blonde newcomer, whoever she was, stood perfectly still, her cape settling slowly behind her. She glanced at Regent like he was an annoying fly. “Good call.” She said flatly. “Stay down and stay quiet.”

Before anyone could speak, another sound cut through the air, a low, growing rumble that wasn’t debris or destruction. Amy’s breath got caught in her throat

A blur of red and blue shot through the front door, now free of darkness now that Grue was out. The force of it sent papers and broken glass swirling through the air as the blur came to a halt in the very center of the ruined lobby.

When the dust cleared, there he was.

Clark.

Superman.

Amy’s knees almost buckled in relief. His presence was as overwhelming as it was comforting, broad shoulders, steady eyes that seemed to take in everything at once, and that same calm strength that had carried her through so many impossible moments.

“Cl-Superman!” She gasped, a half-sob, half-cry of relief.

“I’m so sorry I’m late! The traffic here was terrible!” Clark said as his piercing blue gaze swept over the scene, with his expression unreadable. He saw Amy and Taylor, battered but alive and gave them a small, comforting smile. And then his eyes landed on the blonde woman wearing his symbol.

His entire body went still. “…Kara?”

The blonde blinked, turning toward him. Her expression crumpled with disbelief. “Kal?”

For a moment, Amy didn’t understand. Her mind couldn’t connect the dots until she noticed their matching uniforms.

“Wait.” Amy’s voice came out strangled, caught between shock and fear. “You know her?”

Clark gave her an excited smile as he knelt beside her, ignoring Tattletale as Taylor stared in awe. “She’s my cousin.” 

Huh? Cousin? Did that mean she was from the same world as him? How did she end up here? How-

Tattletale groaned beneath her. “This is weird as fuck. Just arrest me already.” 

With pleasure. 

A/N

The reception to the last chapter was insane! I enjoyed reading each and every comment!

The next chapter shall end this arc. 

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.

Chapter Text

The room was silent save for the soft hum of machines and the steady hiss of Coil’s own breath beneath his mask. Before him, banks of monitors glowed with shifting feeds, city streets, PRT communications, hidden cameras in places no one suspected, and body cameras on his mercenaries. Today was the day that months of planning would finally come to fruition. 

“Prepare to move in.” His voice was smooth and calculated. His men were already ready to capture the girl, while his Pet and his toys were ready to distract the last piece of the puzzle. All he had to do was wait for the right moment. 

Coil split the timeline. 

In Timeline A, he leaned back in his chair and casually pulled a folder of classified PRT reports from his desk. Emily Piggot’s latest intelligence summaries would give him additional insight into local hero deployments. He skimmed line after line with idle interest, marking troop movements and supply chain weaknesses. In this timeline, he was patient. 

In Timeline B, he remained still, every muscle coiled and ready, his eyes fixed on the monitors. Here, he waited for the signal to strike.

“Hookwolf is on the move, sir.” His communicator in Timeline A came to life. Coil smirked as the Empire took the bait, ready to invade ABB territory now that Superman was at the other side of the world. 

He closed Timeline B and reopened it. 

“Have our dear friends move now.” Coil said in Timeline B. He had hired Faultline through several proxies, to raid Squealer's lab, which would cause the Merchants to go on a rampage. 

On the screens before him, a half-dozen feeds flared to life. One showed Faultline’s Crew moving through the dimly lit halls of a crumbling warehouse, their silhouettes precise and professional. Another displayed the Merchants, drunk and frenzied, their scattered lookouts reacting to the breach with uncoordinated rage.

In another screen, Hookwolf and a dozen Nazis tore into Chinatown, with gunfire and knives being put to the test. Leaking the information that the great Lung was out of town was easy, and something Coil knew the Empire would not fail to use. 

“The Protectorate is being deployed.” Another of Coil’s communicators in Timeline B came to life, from one of his moles in the PRT. “New Wave assistance is being requested.” 

Good, that would only leave the Wards. Coil pressed a button in both timelines, and his call was instantly answered by his Pet. He closed Timeline A and reopened it, renaming the previous B as A now. 

“Move in.” He hung up in Timeline A without waiting for her response. 

“Fine.” His Pet answered in B before he hung up. 

At the same time, Coil’s monitors swapped to the street cameras and body-cams of his men who trailed behind his newest addition to his assets.

“Go.” Coil ordered in Timeline A. 

As expected, the girl ran away, using her own abilities to try and outrun his men. She would fail of course, no one would be there to save her. Alcott ran as fast as she could, but with a van and a car full of hardened killers, there was nothing she could do. 

Until she yelled for Superman, and the World’s Strongest Man appeared within minutes, scaring off his men. Coil narrowed his eyes as he closed that timeline. 

In Timeline B he waited until the robbery was well underway and split the timeline as his men followed her once again. 

In Timeline A, the plan was flawless.

The Undersiders executed their part perfectly. Grue’s darkness flooded the bank lobby, Tattletale barked orders with perfect precision while Trainwreck and Bitch kept the hostages subdued and the PRT at bay.

Meanwhile, Coil’s mercenaries followed Dinah from a distance, herding her subtly toward the predetermined capture point. Every street corner, every alleyway had been calculated. Dinah was brilliant for her age, but she was still just a child. She couldn’t outrun Coil’s men forever.

The van pulled up ahead of her, cutting off escape and another car screeched in behind.

Dinah’s terrified cry cut through the comms, and Coil allowed himself a thin, satisfied smile. “At last.”

Then the feed warped violently.

A streak of red and blue blurred across the screen. The van exploded upward, flipping end-over-end before slamming into a nearby lamppost. Coil’s mercenaries screamed, and scattered like leaves in a hurricane wind.

And there he was.

Superman.

The Man of Steel hovered in the middle of the street, cape snapping like a banner in the wind.

His voice was calm, almost gentle, but it carried through Coil’s feed like a thunderclap. “It’s over. No one else gets hurt today.”

Dinah stumbled toward him, sobbing. Superman didn’t even look at Coil’s men, his presence alone was enough to shatter their will despite their training. The remaining mercenaries threw down their weapons and ran.

Coil slammed his fist down on the console, shattering a pen into plastic shards. The mission was compromised. The Undersiders were no longer enough of a distraction. With Superman on the board, the entire operation was doomed.

“Damn you.” Coil voice was a low, venomous hiss. Without hesitation, he collapsed Timeline A once again, erasing the entire sequence from existence.

His men performed better in Timeline B, where his prey never called for Superman, instead running down an alleyway. 

On the feeds, the Undersiders’ distraction was holding, but barely. Grue’s darkness swirled like storm clouds inside the bank. Tattletale’s took Panacea hostage, a rather nice development, and Hellhound’s monstrous dogs coordinated just enough to keep the PRT pinned down. It wasn’t the clean, precise operation Coil had envisioned, but it was functional.

Dinah ran again, exactly as predicted. His mercenaries moved into position like wolves closing in on a lamb. She wouldn’t make it to the next block without being caught.

Then, two unknown variables entered. 

A hulking figure in red, white, and blue body armor dropped into the fray from a nearby rooftop, pistols blazing with surgical precision. The dove emblem on his chestplate gleamed under the streetlights, he looked ridiculous.

Behind him came another man, leaner, shorter, and wielding twin pistols, skipping toward the fight like a madman on a sugar rush.

“Who the hell are these clowns?” One of Coil’s mercenaries shouted through the comms before his feed went dark.

The Red man fired a perfect shot that disabled the van’s engine block, while the Green Cape cackled gleefully, carving through a squad of thugs with chaotic, improvised knifeplay. 

The timeline spun off script in an instant. Dinah bolted toward the newcomers, screaming for help and the Red Cape scooped her up with one arm and kept firing with the other, calm and deadly. The Green Cape twirled behind them, clearing a path while singing something wildly inappropriate.

Coil’s fingers clenched the arms of his chair.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. These weren’t Protectorate members, Wards, or even local villains he could account for. There was no data on them in his entire network.

“Where did they come from?” He muttered. Too much time had passed, and splitting another timeline would just give him a migraine, like everything else that Superman was involved in. 

His carefully laid plan was collapsing like a house of cards.  Dinah was being taken out of his reach, and the Undersiders’ cover operation was unraveling under PRT pressure. His mercenaries were already fleeing, panicked by these wild card players. The perfect equilibrium he’d built was gone.

“Fall back.” Coil pressed the button for his Pet’s communicator, when an object crashed into the roof of the bank, visible from the camera across the street. 

And not even five minutes later, just as an escape van for his tools arrived, Superman arrived once again. Coil split the timeline, and smashed all of his equipment in rage in one. 

What a waste. 

A/N

I wasn’t the biggest fan of this chapter, but I wanted to get it over with rather than risk burnout trying to perfect it. 

Chapter Text

There was always something going on in the Hall of Justice. Whether it was Kendra having sleepovers with Black Canary and her other friends, or Guy being well, being Guy, something was always happening, much to Michael’s displeasure. 

Mr. Terrific adjusted his posture slightly as he hunched over the control panel, triple-checking the sequence of calculations glowing on the holographic screen before him. Around his head, the T-spheres floated in perfect orbit, each one humming with soft mechanical precision. This was delicate work, after all, coss-dimensional travel wasn’t like opening a simple boom tube, one wrong formula, one misaligned quantum gate, and you didn’t just send someone across space. You sent them across realities, or scattered their atoms across a dozen dead universes.

Michael really didn’t like dead universes.

“Okay.” Lois said behind him, her voice carrying a mix of awe and impatience. “So let me get this straight, you’re saying that when you flip that switch, Kara and her dog are going to, what, pop into another world like Dorothy dropping into Oz?”

They were in a heavily shielded observation room, watching a bored Supergirl and Krypto sit in the room adjacent to them. All that separated them was a heavily modified and shield glass plane, and some of the strongest materials Maxwell Lord could buy. 

“Not like Dorothy.” Michael muttered as hishands flew across the holographic keyboard as he adjusted a phase variance. “It’s more like slipping between overlapping membranes of the multiverse. It’s a completely different principle.”

“Yeah, but visually.” Guy Gardner cut in, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and that irritating smirk plastered on his face, “It’s still gonna look like magic space dust, right? Big sparkly lights, maybe a sound effect? I’m voting for voooosh.”

Michael’s left eye twitched. “It’s not magic space dust, it’s interdimensional quantum harmonics, and there will be a sound effect, but it’s purely a byproduct of the energy output, not-” 

“So the‘Vooosh’ is gonna happen.” Guy said, nodding to himself with a sly grin. 

Kendra snorted, her wings giving a little rustle as she leaned casually against the railing, watching the exchange with an amused glint in her eyes. “Honestly, T, you’ve got to admit he’s kind of right. Last time you opened a wormhole, it did go voooosh.”

Michael froze mid-keystroke and turned to glare at her. “You people are impossible.” And he was trying to close the portal that asshole Luthor made, not open another one. 

“You invited us to watch.” Lois reminded him, walking closer to the platform where the portal frame stood like a massive silver archway. “You didn’t really think two heroes and a reporter would just stand quietly, did you?”

“Hey! Is this safe?” Supergirl yelled from the other room, standing in front of the portal generator. 

Michael didn’t even give her a glance, though his T-spheres shifted formation as if bracing for impact. “Safe is a relative term.” He called back, his tone clipped and clinical. “The chamber is shielded against ninety-nine point eight percent of multiversal radiation leakage. Statistically, that’s very safe.”

“Statistically?” Supergirl arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s not exactly reassuring, Mister Terrific.”

Krypto barked once, almost like he was agreeing with her. His tail wagged nervously as he paced near Kara’s boots, ears twitching at the faint hum of the portal’s power core. He moved closer to his machinery, sniffing something out. 

Lois turned, shooting Michael a sharp look. “You really need to work on your bedside manner. Maybe tell the teenage girl you’re about to fling across dimensions that she’s going to be fine.”

Michael exhaled through his nose, his shoulders stiff with annoyance. “She is going to be fine. I’ve run the calculations three separate times, checked them with three different systems, and even cross-referenced with data from the Guardians’ archives. She will land exactly where I intend to send her.” He paused for a second. “Probably.”

“Probably?!” Supergirl’s voice jumped an octave. “You’re sending me and Krypto to another Earth! I thought you were supposed to be the smart guy on this team!”

“Hey, don’t knock him too hard.” Guy interrupted, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “I mean, yeah, the odds of you getting spaghetti-fied are, what, two percent? That’s, like, great odds in superhero math.”

Michael’s hands froze over the keyboard, and he turned his head very slowly, very deliberately, to glare at Guy. “…Spaghetti-fied?”

“You know.” Guy twirled a finger in the air. “Stretched out into a long noodle and scattered across the multiverse. That happens all the time in the movies.”

Kendra groaned and rubbed her temple. “Guy, you are not helping.”

“Helping? I’m trying to lighten the mood!” Guy grinned and jabbed a thumb toward Kara who shot them a glare. “Besides, if she hears the worst-case scenario now, she won’t freak out later if something goes wrong.”

Lois muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘idiot with a bad bowl cut’. 

“Listen!” Michael snapped, cutting across them all at once. “Supergirl is not going to be spaghetti-fied. She’s not going to explode, or implode, or wind up inside the sun. This portal is perfectly safe as long as everyone stops distracting me so I can finish aligning the-”

A sharp alarm blared from the console with red warning glyphs flashing across the holographic display. The portal generator turned on. 

Michael swore under his breath and began hammering at the controls. “Who touched something?!”

Krypto barked loudly, startling everyone. Supergirl glanced down at him, then back up at the observation room with a sheepish shrug. “…It wasn’t me!”

Michael’s eyes flicked to the corner of the room where Krypto sat, his tail wagging furiously. The dog’s muzzle was clamped down on something.

“Krypto.” Michael said slowly, his voice dropping an octave. “What. Is. That?”

Krypto froze mid-chew, his eyes going wide like a child caught red-handed. Then, very deliberately, he dropped a half-mangled glowing module onto the floor which sparked, sputtered, and let out a sad little bzzt before going dark.

“Oh no…” Michael muttered, his stomach sinking as his T-spheres began whirring in frantic alarm. “That’s a quantum regulator. That’s not just important, that’s essential!”

Supergirl winced, holding up her hands. “Okay, in my defense, he’s a very good boy ninety-nine percent of the time, and I told you to secure all the wires before we started!”

“Super-dog ate the quantum whatsit.” Guy snorted, barely holding back laughter. “I knew today was gonna be entertaining. I should have brought some popcorn.” 

“Guy!” Kendra snapped, smacking him in the chest with the back of her hand.

“Relax, it’s probably fine.” Guy said, smirking even wider. “Right, T? Just dog-proof the portal or whatever.”

Michael’s fingers were a blur on the holographic controls. “It is not fine! The portal’s energy stabilizers are now unbalanced. If I don’t shut it down manually, it’ll start tearing holes in the dimensional boundary!”

The lights in the chamber flickered ominously, and a low, throbbing hum began to build, like the heartbeat of a giant creature.

Lois’s eyes widened. “That’s bad, right?”

“That’s very bad.” Michael confirmed grimly. “Stay here!”

Without waiting for an argument, he sprinted for the reinforced door, his T-spheres whirling around him like a shield.Inside the portal chamber, arcs of raw multiversal energy crackled across the silver archway. Panels tore loose from the floor, sucked toward the swirling vortex that was forming inside the frame. Krypto barked furiously, leaping between Kara and a flying piece of debris.

“Shut it down!” Kara yelled over the rising wind as Michael ran towards the generator. “Can you do it?”

Michael dropped to one knee, wrestling open a maintenance hatch. “I can maybe contain it, but only if, ah, hell!”

A blinding pulse of light surged from the portal, and the air went weightless. Michael grabbed the emergency lever, his muscles straining as he tried to force it down. Supergirl flew towards him and wrapped her arms around him to keep him from being yanked away while Krypto dug his claws into the flooring.

For one terrifying moment, it looked like they might make it.

Then the lever snapped clean off.

“Fudge nuggets.” Were the last words to escape his mouth. 

The portal roared to life with a deafening voooosh that Guy Gardner, wherever he was, would’ve been smug about. Michael barely had time to register Kara’s shocked face and Krypto’s ears flattening before the three of them were pulled off their feet and hurled into the blinding light.

Lois screamed from behind the safety glass. “KARA! T!”

And then they were gone.

A/N

Hehehehehehehehe