Chapter Text
The multiverse was a fickle thing. One moment, Kal-El—the Prime Kal-El, the one with the brightest cape and the most blindingly white teeth in existence—was drifting through the Bleed. The next, he was crashing through the roof of a high-tech satellite.
Prime Superman landed in a perfect three-point superhero stance. Dust cleared. He stood up, adjusted his cape (the classic one, with the yellow S on the back, thank you very much), and flashed a million-dollar smile.
"Greetings, citizens!" Prime boomed. His voice had that natural, cinematic reverb that usually made people weep with hope. "I am Superman. I believe I’ve taken a bit of a detour through the spatial-temporal—"
He stopped.
He wasn't looking at citizens. He was looking at the Justice League.
The local Superman—a guy who looked like he spent way too much time brooding in the rain—was floating mid-air, arms crossed. Batman was there, looking like he hadn’t slept since the 1990s. Wonder Woman, Flash, and Green Lantern were all staring at him.
Prime Superman stood a little taller. He puffed out his chest. He was an adult. He was a veteran. He had moved planets. He was ready for the respect he deserved.
"Oh, wow," Barry Allen (The Flash) broke the silence. He vibrated over to Prime in a blur. "Look at him. He’s like… a vintage version. He’s so shiny!"
"I am not 'vintage,'" Prime said with a dignified chuckle, though his inner monologue was already screaming. "I am a Superman from a world where we value—"
Ruffle.
Prime froze. Barry Allen had just reached up and ruffled Prime’s perfectly coiffed spit-curl.
"He’s adorable," Barry said, looking at Diana. "Can we keep him? He looks like he smells like laundry detergent and justice."
"He does possess a certain… youthful vigor," Wonder Woman said, her voice dripping with the kind of gentleness one uses on a golden retriever puppy. She stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Rest easy, little one. You are among friends. We shall find you a place to stay while we repair your dimensional vibrations."
"Little one?" Prime’s voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat and tried to drop it an octave. "Ma'am, I am a fully grown Kryptonian. I have fought Darkseid. I have saved entire galaxies. I once punched a hole in reality because I was grumpy! Well, okay, I don't do that anymore, but the point is—"
"Of course you have, champ," Hal Jordan said, passing by and patting Prime on the back so hard it would have sent a normal human through a wall. "We’ve all been there. You want a soda? We have those ginger ales with the little bears on the can in the commissary."
Prime Superman looked at the local Superman, pleading for some kind of peer-to-peer recognition.
The local Superman just smiled, that annoying, paternalistic 'I’m the elder statesman' smile. "Don't worry, Clark. We’ll look after you. Why don't you go with Barry? He’ll show you where the… junior quarters are."
Prime’s eye twitched. Junior quarters? I’m literally thirty years old!