Chapter Text
The wind is cool on his skin as he floats farther up. The clouds leave condensation on his glasses as he flows through them. He isn’t Superman right now. He’s barely even Clark Kent. He is just some guy. Sad, useless, alone.
***
“Clark.”
Clark, are you okay? The memory of Lois’ words rings through his head.
“Clark, come on.”
Clark, love, what’s wrong? Another memory, another question filled with worry.
He doesn’t react.
“Clark, you can’t go on like this.”
Clark, you don’t have to tell me about it, but I want you to know that I’m really concerned about you.
He stretches on his second-hand sofa and lets out an impatient sigh.
“Lois, we’ve gone over this already. I don’t know what’s wrong and I don’t know how to fix it. If I did, I would, but I don’t. So I don’t see the point—”
“Then do something else,” she snaps, clearly done with the subject. She is now in his line of sight, leaning against the backrest and frowning down at him. “Do something else. There are a thousand ways to help people, so just choose another one.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” he says with another sigh, “I’ve thought of that, too, but I told you that— that I don’t think I can handle the fact I’d only be helping a few people when otherwise I could—”
He doesn’t get far before Lois interrupts him again.
“I have an old friend, my college roommate, who is heavily involved in GME.”
“Lois,” he groans, hoping she would just stop and leave him alone, but if Lois Lane has her mind set on something, nothing can stop her.
“Gotham-Metropolis Events, it’s been all over the news. It’s the non-profit organisation operating both in Gotham and Metropolis, where it’s currently responsible for a lot of events involving charity and fundraising. They help with the planning, make sure everything goes smoothly during the event, and ensure that the money will go where it’s supposed to afterwards.”
She walks around the sofa and squeezes herself into the remaining space at his legs. Her hand on his knee is soothing, just like it’s always been.
“They do all the behind-the-scenes work and I think you’d fit in perfectly.”
Although he tries to ignore it, there is something in this proposal that gets the rusty cogs in his head turning again. And, although he cannot quite hear it yet, there is a small voice in the back of his mind saying, Charity. And not just one particular charity. Yes, that could work.
***
Clark huffs as he arrives at the farm. The ability to fly is one he gained late in life. Still, it’s strange to have it take so much effort again. He shakes his head and opens the door. No need to rack his brain about something he can’t change.
***
Clark arrives at the Daily Planet a few minutes early. There is a pamphlet on his desk. The symbol on the top right shows two hands cradling a heart between them, the letters GME stamped beneath it. A part of him counts it as a victory that he angrily shoves it under the stack of take-out menus instead of immediately throwing it away.
***
When it’s dark outside and Superman has used up his last energy to save a girl (she was— she was so young and her mother was— good God), he sits down on a roof and cries.
***
The next day, Clark Kent finds the pamphlet on top of the take-out stack, a post-it with a time, date and number stuck to it. He puts it in his bag and sits down to write.
***
Superman can fly no more.
The suit is packed away and the last thing he has to do is to rein his hearing in, to ignore the cries from all around the world.
***
Clark sits down on his worn couch. He can hear Lois’ voice in his head, gently coaxing him to seek help. Without looking, he fishes the pamphlet out of the bag he has carelessly flung onto the floor. It doesn’t say much on it, but there’s enough for the other voice to come back, louder this time and coloured with a tinge of hope, and say, Charity. That could work.
***
It’s warm outside, but Clark barely notices as the shivers overtake him. He’s sitting on his living room floor, his back against a wall, his head and shoulder resting against the side of the bookshelf. Somehow, it’s the only place in his apartment where he feels safe right now. He curls farther into himself, eyes closed, and stretches his face out to catch the sun shining through the windows. The soft rays prickle on his skin and gradually begin to soothe his body, although they can’t soothe his mind.
His mind, as it is wont to do these days, fixates on everything and nothing all at once. It is a jumbled mess of emotions.
Ever since he had been brought back, he couldn’t stop the nagging feeling of wrongness. Something is different now. When he tries to think, tries to go into himself, there is nothing.
He opens his eyes and there is still nothing, both in his mind and his life. The only pieces of furniture in his living room are his bookshelf, a dining table he uses to eat and write at, an old TV and the ugly sofa he bought for twenty bucks at a garage sale. He closes his eyes again and still feels nothing. The thought of trying to stand up and leave fills him with dread, though, so he keeps sitting there on the floor.
Something deep inside his chest breaks. He feels nothing like himself.
Another minute passes and he tries to think of something else, but that only makes his mind travel paths it shouldn’t set foot on. Thoughts of the breakup with Lois (and wasn’t that a surprise? It had worked so well again until it didn’t and it felt wrong, wrong, so wrong…) and his current physical state only serve to make him feel pathetic. As such, he tries to lead his thoughts back to the great nothing, but what instead awaits him is emptiness.
Clark had never known the difference between the two, but now he knows that it is much worse to feel empty.
***
Superman receives a message on his comm unit. Clark pretends not to notice.
There’s an invitation to lunch in his text messages. Sender: Bruce Wayne. He ignores that, too.
***
“Clark Kent. Nice to meet you.” He has to suppress a shudder at the fake smile he puts on.
Shawna Davis, as she has introduced herself, is fixing him with a hard stare. It’s uncomfortable. Her gaze prickles his skin, raises his hackles. He gets the feeling she can see right through him. Maybe she can. He has no way of checking if she’s another metahuman — well, at least not while he’s trying his best to stay away from the League.
She lets go of his hand but doesn’t say anything, simply walking away and gesturing to follow her. They walk through the park in silence — Clark quietly grateful that she didn’t choose Heroes Park but one that is not far from the Planet anyway — and Clark is torn between looking at the path before him and glancing at Shawna. He doesn’t know if this is a test, but it sure feels like one. He has no idea if he’s failing it or not.
“Lois told me all about you,” she utters after a while. Squinting eyes tell him that she doesn’t believe that Lois has actually told her all. Clark swallows and nods.
“I mean, I’ve known her for ages. We were college roommates, which means I know her better than my own living room. I trust her, so I won’t try to break her trust by not trusting you.” There is nothing but confidence in her voice and he feels his lips turn up at the thought of how similar she seems to Lois. “For some reason, she’s entrusting me with your care. So, the only question I have for you today is the following: why do you care?”
They stop at the edge of the park. A row of bushes separates the grass from the sidewalk. They are out in the open, but somehow Clark feels trapped. The grass is always greener on the other side, except for when there is no grass on the other side. He doesn’t have an answer and he sure as hell can’t just leave because, yes, this is Lois’ trust they are talking about and that is not something you ignore. Lois is trusting him to do this thing, go through this interview, get that volunteering position, and start to help people again. Maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s what he can say.
“I just want to help.”
Helping people — that has always been his thing. And, as he says it, he knows it is still true. That’s his answer. He knows that humans can do without him. Without Superman. He knows what they’ve achieved. But he cannot just stop himself from wanting to help out anyway. He wants to help because he likes it, because he likes people.
Shawna looks at him as if she’s figured him out. Which is strange, because he doesn’t think he has himself figured out. Are his thoughts making any sense?
“I only have one piece of advice for you: look around you when you go back home.”
With a handshake and an assurance that he will hear from her, she’s gone. Off to another meeting that is just around the block.
Clark walks back to the station he arrived at and takes a look around himself. The park is filled with people of all ages, running around the playground or having a lazy stroll. It’s really quite beautiful; reassuring, that he isn’t always needed. And, fortunately, he can help them anyway if they are, even though he’s lacking the blue and red —the black and silver — at the moment.
He plays around with the phone in his pocket and decides to fire off a quick text.
You: I think it went well.
Lois: It better.
Clark chuckles and takes the train home.
***
Laughter. Laughter. A scream. Even more laughter as he scrambles away, or tries to.
“Awww, Clarkie-boy, do you wanna run back to momma?”
He’s young and scared and just wants to be safe.
A dark shadow appears between them and is gone a second later. The kid — what was his name again? — laughs again as he starts growing. His hair, his face, his body change. The laughing kid twitches as his hair turns dark, his jaw and muscles gain definition, his clothes turn into otherworldly material. The kid screams as his eyes start to burn.
Clark tries to flee again but he is held in place by something, something he cannot see and is not quite there but he knows it is. He can feel the heat of the kid’s — he’s not a kid anymore, a voice whispers, he’s you, he’s you — burning eyes on his body, can feel them burn a hole into his chest. The kid grows more, grows into even more of a monster — while staying Kryptonian, Kryptonians are monsters — and the burning eyes turn into the different burn of a spiked extremity ramming its way through his heart.
Clark looks down at himself, at the dark liquid spilling out of him. He’s grown, too, has taken the kid’s second form.
He laughs and laughs and starts crying. Useless, useless, useless.
The spike running through him feels like it isn’t even there. The hollow he perceives… it’s empty.
His body floats in the endless space between life and death.
When he wakes up, it’s to the memory of a green glow that still tints his sight as he looks around the room. He lifts a hand to his face and wipes away the salty tracks of sweat and tears.
Sitting up, he takes a sip from the glass of water on his nightstand. His phone blinks with a notification for a game he had once downloaded while waiting for an interview. The thought of calling Lois flits through his head but he’d rather not bother her at — he glances at his still lit-up phone again — three forty-four in the morning, especially after all she’s done for him already.
He takes another sip of water.
Clark loves her, still. Maybe that’s the problem. He loves her and she loves him, but neither of them loves the other the right way anymore. He can’t call her, like this, not as a friend. Not while he isn’t feeling like himself. It would be rude and he was raised to be the opposite.
He downs the rest of the glass in the fragile hope that it will clear his mind. It doesn’t work. He lies back down and pulls the blanket over his head, not feeling any better. At least he isn’t thirsty anymore.
He stares into the blank space and thinks of something else, thinks of how maybe, if he’s lucky, the opportunity to help others again will help him, too.