Look Up Part 1 (Update: 10k -> 23k Words) (Patreon)

Why do we look up?

What is it about the infinite vastness of the sky that makes humans gaze up to it. It is sometimes said that when you look into the void it drives you mad, and yet humans have gazed up into the sky since the dawn of time. Instead of being broken by it, they were inspired, they reached for it despite being held down to the ground.

Why do we look up when we make a wish?

What made sailors look up when trying to find their way home?

What did humanity want when they first looked to travel off their world and into the stars?

Why is it so common a phrase to look up to someone?

What made Galileo look up towards the stars?

When we fall what makes us look up before we even start to stand?

Why do we look up?

When babies are first brought into the world they look up, often seeing the smiling faces of their mothers.

When babies grow into children they still look up at their parents, their symbols of love and safety.

When those children grow into adults they still often look up trying to find answers to the questions that still plague them.

Such a simple act has had such a profound effect on history as humanity knows it. Perhaps no one will ever know for sure why humanity has always looked up, or perhaps the answer is a simple one.

Hope.

For hope is the intangible desire that despite all the evil and hate in the world, things will end up being okay. There has never and will never be a world without hope, for a world without hope is one that has forgotten to look up.

Perhaps those were the reasons why Martha Kent stood outside on the porch of her family farm looking up into the stars. Or perhaps it was none of those reasons, yet it was her standing there at the exact moment that caused one of her deepest hopes to come true. The world would remember it as the night a meteor hit the town of Smallville, but Martha Kent and her husband Jonathan would remember it as the night their son came to them.

They had been hoping for years—praying even—for a child. Just one. Someone to fill the house with giggles and little feet on the stairs and muddy boots by the door. Marriage had been good to them, real good, except in that one corner of their life that stayed empty no matter how much they wished it did not. They tried doctors, tried church, tried waiting. Nothing ever came.

Until that night.

Martha was sitting out on the porch, rocking slow and staring up like always, when she saw it—a streak of fire tearing across the sky like a match scraped against the dark. It hit their back field with a crash that rattled the windows. Jonathan came running out with the shotgun, thinking maybe a plane or some kind of trouble, but what they found out there in the field sure as hell was not any normal kind of wreckage.

It was not a meteor.

It was a ship. Small, silver, shaped like nothing they had ever seen, humming soft and glowing with this strange kind of light. And sitting inside, wrapped up safe like someone meant for him to get there in one piece... was a baby.

A little baby boy, with wide blue eyes staring up at them like he didn't just crash down into the earth.

A Gift.

That is what they called him. From the stars, from God, from fate. In the end it did not matter where. They held him close, feeling that tiny heart beating steady as a drum, and just knew it. He was theirs.

They did not call anyone. Did not hand him over. Did not tell a soul. He was Clark Kent from that night on, and that was that.

For the first five years, he was the kind of boy parents dream of. Happy as can be, always smiling, always running around with that boundless energy kids have. He would chase Shelby out through the back fields, laughing while the dog barked and circled him. Or he would be over by the Langs playing tag with Lana. Every day was something new.

Heroes filled his little world. He loved them. All of them. Silver Sentinel most of all—said he was the best, with that shiny armor and big cool sword. Clark would tie a towel around his shoulders and run up and down the yard like he was flying, saving invisible folks and fighting make-believe monsters with a stick sword and a plastic helmet.

Jonathan was not much for the superhero stuff. Thought it was all glitz and noise—Vought International making millions selling dreams to folks who did not know better. But he never said a word against it to Clark. He just went along. Took him to every movie that came out, even the real loud ones with too many explosions. Sat right beside him with popcorn and a big smile, listening to Clark ramble the whole drive home about laser eyes and power armor and bad guys getting what was coming to them.

They had hoped for a child for years and nothing would stop them from making the most of the time they had now.

That was how the Kents spent the first years of Clark's life.

_____________________________________

"7!"

"6!"

"5!"

"4!"

"3!"

"2!"

"1!"

"Ready or not here I come!" Martha Kent shouted, standing outside the barn beside the Kent family home. Moving on her tip toes she entered the barn with a cat-like smile on her face. "Where is my little hero," she called out as she stalked towards the first stable stall.

"Is he here!" She jumped into the stall, only to see that it was empty. Only a small bale of hay and an empty bucket. With her hand on the wooden door she moved along to the next stall. Empty again. "Mmm it seems my little man has gotten better at hiding," Martha said, as she moved away from the stalls and towards the ladder. She smiled as she heard the wood creak from the second floor; she quickly moved to the ladder and climbed up its rungs. "Are my ears deceiving me or did I hear the sound of a naughty boy being up where he shouldn't be," she said, as she climbed onto the second floor.

The second floor of the barn was mostly unused, and contained various junk collected over the years the Kent family had lived there. Apart from that it did have a spectacular view of the night sky from one of its large windows, and was one of the favourite places of a certain Kent. "Clarkkkk where are youuuu," Martha said in a sing-song voice. Her gaze drifted across the various pieces of junk—old tractor parts, boxes of clothing, antiques—and they narrowed onto a mannequin that lay stood the back.

A smile graced her features as she could see a pair of feet that didn't belong there. Martha causally walked across there. "Boy I hope I can find Clark soon, otherwise Pa and I are gonna have to eat that whole cherry pie without him..." her smile widened when she saw the feet by the mannequin start to bounce from one to the other.

"I can't seem to find him anywhere," she said while scratching her head, looking around obliviously despite being right next to the mannequin. Martha then heard a small chuckle from her left—right where the mannequin happened to be. "Did I hear something?" She said aloud, "it sounds like I heard a little boy giggling, but that can't be right." She moved over to the mannequin while keeping her eyes away from it.

The moment she got close enough she pounced and grabbed a little boy from behind it. "Found you!" She called out with a smile, making the boy laugh and giggle, as she spun him around.

"I was hiding here the whole time!" Clark said while laughing. "You didn't see me!" He hugged onto his mother.

"You're getting too good as this game hun," Martha said as she started walking back to the ladder. "Next time I might need Shelby to come and help track you down with that big ol' nose of his." She booped him on the nose causing the young boy to giggle again.

"How did you get up here hun?" She asked. She was more than a little curious. Clark had always scared of the ladder that led up here after he fell off two years ago.

"I flew!" Clark said with a wide smile, while throwing his arms up in the air.

"Oooh did you now? I didn't know my little boy was the Homelander." She lifted him higher while spinning him around.

"Nuh uh, I'm Silver Sentinel!" Clark replied.

Martha smiled as she climbed down the ladder with Clark on her hip. "Well Silver Sentinel still has to eat dinner," she said, as she walked out of the barn.

"Can we watch the Young Guardians!?" Clark asked, looking up at his mother, his eyes wide enough to give the family dog a run for its money.

"You know the rule Clark, dinner time is family time," she said chidingly. "It's the only time all three of us get to spend time together."

"Awww but mommm," Clark whined, his little feet kicking in the air as Martha carried him across the yard towards the farmhouse. Inside, the kitchen smelled of warm cherry pie and roasted chicken, the table set with three plates just waiting.

Jonathan Kent looked up from his newspaper, his glasses perched on the end of his nose, a smile creasing his face as he saw his wife and son come in. "Well look what the cat dragged in," he said with a chuckle, folding the paper aside. "Our little escape artist finally got caught huh?"

Martha set Clark down in his chair, ruffling his dark hair. "Yup, found him up in the loft behind that old mannequin. Sneaky as a fox this one." She moved to the oven, pulling out the pie with mitts that had seen better days. "And get this Pa, he says he flew up there. Our boy's got quite the imagination."

Jonathan leaned over, giving Clark a wink. "Flew did ya? Well if you're flyin' now, maybe tomorrow you'll be pullin' the plow all by yourself. Save your old man some backache." He laughed, a deep rumble that filled the room, as he served up the chicken and potatoes.

Clark bounced in his seat. "I did fly! Like Silver Sentinel! Zoom!" He made whooshing sounds, arms out like wings, nearly knocking over his milk glass.

"Easy there hero," Martha said, steadying the glass with a grin. "No flyin' at the table. Now let's say grace." They bowed their heads, Jonathan leading in a simple prayer thanking for the food, the farm, and their family.

As they ate, Clark chattered on about the stars he'd seen from the barn window, how they looked like they were winking at him. "Do you think there's people up there Pa? Lookin' down at us?"

Jonathan chewed thoughtfully, glancing at Martha with that knowing look they'd shared since that fateful night years ago. "Maybe son. Maybe they're lookin' up too, wonderin' the same thing."

Martha nodded, her heart swelling as she watched her boy, this gift from the stars. Why do we look up? She thought again, slicing into the pie. Perhaps because sometimes, the answers we are looking for come crashin' down to us.

_____________________________________

Things changed after Clark's fifth birthday.

Started small. Little stories. Clark said he flew. Martha and Jonathan would laugh, thinking it was just pretend. Kids talk big. But then, one day in the barn, while Clark was helping Pa fix up the tractor, something happened. The jack slipped. The metal came down hard and fast. Would have crushed Jonathan clean. But it did not. Because Clark, that little boy with his hands still covered in dirt, just reached out and caught it. Caught it. Held it like it was nothing.

That is when everything flipped.

They kept it quiet, but things started happening real fast after that. He got stronger. Could lift bales of hay like they were made of cotton. Then one day he floated clean off the ground, hovered there like the wind forgot to pull him back. Chickens squawked and scattered. Martha nearly dropped a plate. Then came the running. So fast he blurred. The super hearing. Said he could hear the Wilsons whispering in their kitchen half a mile off. Then the heat beams—burned clean through a fence post by accident. Then the fall from the barn roof that did not leave a bruise.

He was strong. He could fly. He could take a hit and not even blink.

He was... well... he was just like the Homelander. From the Seven, the world's greatest hero. Same powers, more or less. But not the same boy.

Martha was wonderstruck. "He is a miracle," she would say. "Our miracle." As if she expected such a thing from her son.

Jonathan... well, not so much. He did not trust Vought. Did not trust what they did to people. "They are poison," he would mutter over supper. "Selling gods in capes to the highest bidder. If they find out about Clark..."

There were arguments. Small ones at first. Then louder. After Clark went to bed, voices would rise in that kitchen. Martha saying he could be hope. Jonathan saying he could get taken. Used. Changed. Every time it ended the same. Them holding each other, scared more than anything.

But in the end, they agreed.

It was Clark's choice.

Someday.

Not now. Not while he was still so small, not while he still ran around with his cape-towel and made "whoosh!" noises at the dinner table.

For now, he was just a boy.

Just a boy with a big heart.

Let him run. Let him laugh. Let him look up at the stars without having to carry them just yet.

_____________________________________

*BOOM*

A baseball cracked across the sky, trailing a ripple through the clouds like a stone skipping across water. It was going just over the speed of sound, spinning fast, a streak of wind moving in its wake—and Clark Kent was right behind it.

He hung there just above the clouds, fifteen now and already pretty tall for his age, a head above most of his classmates. His shoulders were broad, his chest filling out the flannel shirt he still wore half-buttoned over his school tee. His hair was black and wild, messy in that way that made it look like he'd just rolled out of bed—even though he'd already flown halfway across the county that morning.

He laughed loudly, as a streak of white tore through the air below him.

"Get it, Krypto!" Clark called out, grinning as the white Labrador launched up through the mist like a furry little missile, mouth snapping shut on the ball mid-air. The dog wagged his tail so hard he spun a little before streaking right for Clark, legs pumping through the sky like it was a field. The dog slammed into him with all the joy of a cannonball, knocking Clark backwards in the air. The two of them tumbled head over heel across the clouds, laughing—well, Clark was laughing, Krypto barked excitedly, tail flailing like a propeller.

"Come on, buddy! I'll race you back home!"

Clark shot off like a comet, arms at his sides, wind peeling past his ears. Krypto barked once and zipped after him. They swerved through clouds, dove down over the tree line, even buzzed the top of a silo where old man Becker was just finishing up his morning chores.

Luckily he didn't look up.

Clark laughed as Krypto gained on him, then reached out and gave the dog a gentle nudge to the side, sending him spiraling with a surprised bark. But Krypto recovered quick, zipped back up and snapped playfully at the hem of Clark's shirt, tugging it just enough to slow him down. They hit the backyard at nearly the same time, kicking up a gust of wind that knocked over a watering can and made the clothesline snap.

"Clark Joseph Kent!" Martha called from the back porch, arms crossed. She had an apron on and flour on her fingers. "You were only supposed to take him on a walk!"

"Oh come on, Ma," Clark said, still catching his breath, "you know how much he loves playin' catch up there. Don't you, boy?" He knelt and rubbed Krypto's head, and the dog leaned into it, tail thumping the dirt like a drum.

Martha rolled her eyes but could not hide the smile tugging at her lips. "Get in here and eat before you're late for school."

Clark grinned and jogged toward the porch. "I'll be in in a sec, Ma," he called back.

"Oh, aren't you walkin' with Lana today?"

"Nah," he said, hopping up the steps, "she got a ride from her boyfriend."

Martha gave a look as she wiped her hands on her apron. "I'll never understand what she sees in that boy."

Clark leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before sliding into his chair. "What, Grif? He's not too bad. Bit football focused, but he's a decent sort."

Martha tilted her head just a little. "I always thought... well, with how much time you and Lana spent together growing up, you'd end up with her."

Clark chuckled, grabbing a piece of toast. "Come on, Ma, you know it was never like that with us."

"Well, a mother can wish," Martha said, patting him on the shoulder.

"A father can too," Jonathan said, stepping into the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up, his hair tousled and arms still speckled with dirt. He looked like he had been out in the fields already, boots leaving faint smudges on the floor as he moved.

"Don't you start," Clark said, pointing his toast at him.

Jonathan chuckled as he went to the sink, washing his hands. "Did you fix up those fence posts like I asked you?"

Clark nodded, reaching down to scratch Krypto behind the ear. "Did it before I walked Krypto this morning."

"Good lad," Jonathan said. "Work ethic like that, I'm surprised you don't have a girlfriend yet."

Clark let out a long sigh, slouching back in his seat. "Most of the girls aren't interested in farm boys, Pa. They want to move to the big cities, where the heroes are. Not be slumped down here."

Jonathan looked over at Martha with a grin. "What do you reckon about that, Martha? Ol' Clark here thinks us Kent men slump down the women we end up with."

"Ah, fiddlesticks..." Clark muttered, dragging his hand down his face, only to look up and see Martha giving him the look—arms folded, eyebrows raised, lips pursed.

Jonathan, on the other hand, was grinning ear to ear.

"I'll have you know, young man," Martha said firmly, "that any woman would be lucky to be a Kent wife. This may not be a grand life, but I have a home, food on the table, and a family. I couldn't ask for anything more."

Clark sat up straighter, guilt in his eyes. "Sorry, Ma. I didn't mean it like that."

She softened, reaching to ruffle his hair. "Go on now, get moving before you're late."

Clark stood and grabbed his backpack from the door. "Love you both," he said over his shoulder.

"Be good, Krypto."

And with that, he was gone—just a whoosh, a gust of wind, and a faint ripple in the air.

Jonathan chuckled as he sat down in Clark's empty seat and shook his head. "So much energy nowadays."

"And you don't help, little man," Martha said, reaching down to stroke Krypto's head. The dog let out a low whine, ears down as he looked toward the door Clark had zoomed out of. "Ever since Clark found you in that stasis ship, or whatever that thing was, he hasn't gone anywhere without you."

Krypto whined again, looking positively betrayed.

Martha sighed, picked up a piece of bacon from the pan, and handed it to him.

The dog perked up instantly, tail thumping hard against the floor.

"Yeah," she said with a tired smile. "That's what I thought."

...

Clark flew with his arms tucked to his sides and the wind slicing past his face. The early morning light made the clouds glow gold and pink, and Clark drifted through them slow at first, letting his fingers trail through the mist.

Then he grinned.

And with a sudden burst, he shot upward before he flipped and dove headlong toward the horizon, cutting through the clouds like a bullet through water. The world came rushing up beneath him, fields turning into barns, roads winding like ribbons, and the familiar shape of Smallville rising in the distance. He slowed just enough not to create another sonic boom, easing into a glide before landing just outside of town, right behind an old feed shed near the railroad tracks. He checked around for anyone, then dusted himself off and jogged out into the open road, merging with the stream of students heading toward Smallville High.

With a deep breath, he adjusted his backpack, brushed a few leaves off his shoulder, and jogged out toward the road just as a few other students were walking past. By the time he rounded the corner and reached the front of the school, he was just another fifteen-year-old boy among many, no different from the others—well, no different on the outside.

The front lot was busy, buses letting off students, kids streaming out with half-zipped bags and slouched shoulders. Someone's Bluetooth speaker played music from a side pocket. A few students tossed a football back and forth across the sidewalk, getting yelled at by one of the assistant coaches.

Signs hung over the school entrance: WELCOME TO KANSAS CITY, TRIP WEEK – 10TH GRADE! Someone had added glitter to the edges.

Clark moved with the crowd until he spotted Chloe and Sam over by the lockers near the main entrance. Chloe had her usual energy this morning, her blonde ponytail swinging behind her while she seemed to be explaining something to Pete, likely some cryptic she had been researching for the past few weeks. Pete looked like he'd just rolled out of bed, hoodie still half on and a granola bar stuck in his mouth.

"Hey, guys," Clark said, flashing a warm smile as he approached.

"Clark! There he is," Chloe said, her eyes sparkling with as her smile reached them. "Thought you'd overslept again."

"Nah, just taking the scenic route," Clark replied, leaning against the locker next to hers.

Sam smirked, tossing his hair out of his eyes. "Scenic route, huh? Sounds like you got lost."

So, Clark, spill," Chloe started, her eyes narrowing playfully at him. "You vanished after practice yesterday. Were you out in the fields again, staring at the stars or whatever it is you do when you up and disappear on us?"

Clark chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck in that sheepish way he always did when she called him out. "Nah, just helping out on the farm. Dad had me fixing the tractor. You know how it is."

Sam snorted, weaving around a group of freshmen who were glued to their phones. "Farm boy strikes again. One day you're gonna show up to school covered in hay, and we're gonna have to pretend we don't know you." He bumped Clark's shoulder lightly with his own, grinning wide. "But seriously, man, you missed out. Chloe and I hit up the diner after. She annihilated me in air hockey... again."

Chloe laughed, a loud sound that made a couple of nearby kids glance over. "What can I say? I'm unstoppable. You should've seen his face when I scored that last point. Priceless. Next time, you're coming, Clark. No excuses."

"Deal," Clark said, his smile easy and genuine. The hallway smelled like a mix of cheap body spray, cafeteria breakfast, and that faint, ever-present scent of old textbooks, though for Clark all those smells were if they were right next to him; luckily after lots of practice he figured out how to dull them. As they rounded a corner, squeezing past a cluster of cheerleaders gossiping by the water fountain, Sam's eyes lit up like he'd just remembered something.

"Dude I can't believe I forgot, Kansas City's gonna be wild," Sam said, his hands whipping outwards. "The Young Americans are showing up, and I heard the Silver Sentinel himself is gonna be there mentoring them. Like, actual superheroes in the flesh!"

Chloe grinned, nudging Clark. "Yeah, it's gonna be epic. I bet Clark's already got his Silver Sentinel fanboy checklist ready—autograph, selfie, maybe a cape to sign?"

Clark's cheeks flushed a soft pink, and he shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to play it cool. "I'm not his number one fan, Chloe. There's gotta be people out there with way more merch than me. I just... appreciate what he stands for, okay?"

Chloe and Sam burst out laughing, Chloe doubling over slightly. "Oh, please, Clark," she said, poking his sides playfully, making him squirm. "You're such a Boy Scout. If you were a supe, they'd call you the All-American, no question."

Clark rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his lips. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up."

Still chuckling, the trio headed toward their first class, weaving through the bustling hallway. As they entered the classroom, Clark's gaze landed on his childhood friend Lana Lang, her dark hair falling in soft waves as she sat near the window. She looked up, her eyes brightening. "Hey, Clark," she said with a bright smile.

"Hey, Lana," he replied, his smile softening as he took the seat beside her.

She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "You made it just in time. I was starting to think you'd gotten held up at the farm again."

Clark grinned, leaning back in his chair, his broad shoulders brushing against the wooden backrest. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. Especially not with the trip coming up. You excited about Kansas City?"

Her lips curved into a smile, and she propped her chin on her hand, elbow on the desk as she faced him more fully. "Absolutely," she replied, her tone laced with genuine enthusiasm. "It's like a mini-escape from Smallville. No more cows, or cornfields, just city lights and maybe some actual fun. Grif's already talking about dragging me to that barbecue spot he loves. What about you? Planning to hit up any spots with Chloe and Sam?"

He laughed lightly. "Yeah, sounds good. I'd settle for just hanging out as a group. Maybe grab some ice cream or check out that hero exhibit downtown. You know, normal stuff."

Lana's eyes twinkled with amusement, and she leaned in a fraction closer. "Normal stuff, huh? Coming from the guy who's always got his head in the clouds about space or whatever. Still... we should all stick together on the trip, make it a friends thing."

"I'd like that," Clark said. "A lot. Tell Grif he's invited too."

She nodded, a soft laugh escaping her. "Will do. He's excited, says it's our first big trip as a couple."

Before either could say more, the classroom door swung open with a creak, pulling their attention forward. The teacher, Ms. Evelyn Harper, strode in. "Alright, everyone, settle down," Ms. Harper called out. "I know you're all buzzing about the Kansas City trip, and I don't blame you. But let me be clear: you're representing Smallville High. That means no shenanigans, especially with the Young Americans and the Silver Sentinel there. We don't want to embarrass our little town in front of a superhero team, do we?"

The class burst into cheers and whoops, the jocks in the back banging on their desks like they were at a football game. "Hell yeah, Silver Sentinel's gonna sign my jersey!" Whitney yelled, pumping his fist. "We're meeting real supes, boys!"

"Yo, think they'll let us play some ball with 'em?" another jock hollered, earning a round of laughs and high-fives.

Ms. Harper arched an eyebrow, her lips quirking up as she held up a hand. "Alright, alright, simmer down before you break the furniture," she said, her voice cutting through the noise with that mix of stern and amused. "I get it, it's exciting, but let's not start a ruckus here. Save it for the city."

The room quieted to scattered chuckles, and she nodded. "Class dismissed, go get on those buses. And remember what I said."

Kids grabbed their bags and shuffled out, the hallway turning into a mad rush. "This is gonna be lit," someone muttered ahead of Clark as they spilled into the parking lot, the yellow buses idling with doors open.

Clark stuck close to Chloe and Sam. "You think the buses have AC? Last trip I sweated through my shirt," Sam griped, wiping his forehead dramatically.

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Drama queen. At least it's not the ancient one with the sticky seats. Come on, let's grab the back."

They piled on, the bus filling with shouts and laughter—kids claiming seats, tossing bags overhead. "Window seat's mine!" a girl called out, shoving her friend playfully. Clark slid into a row near Chloe and Sam, the vinyl seat creaking under him as the engine growled to life. The bus lurched forward, tires crunching gravel, and the chatter ramped up. "So, what's the plan when we get there?" Chloe asked, twisting to face them. "Straight to the hero meet-and-greet, or off for food first?"

Sam grinned, pulling out a crumpled map from his pocket. "Food, duh. I heard there's this barbecue joint that does ribs bigger than your arm. Clark, you're buying, farm boy owes us for all the times we covered for you."

Clark laughed. "Hey, I don't disappear that much. But fine, ribs on me."

The three friends continued to laugh and joke while on the road. While Clark played it cool initially he was excited to meet some heroes in the flesh, especially since the Young Americans were around the same age as them.

Also Silver Sentinel.

An older hero, almost from the dawn of heroes—coming just after Solider Boy and Payback. He was a true hero, one who always did his best to save the day. The best thing about him though, he stayed true to his roots. He could've joined the seven or made it big in one of the larger cities but he never left the Midwest.

*Even the quiet places need saving*

Clark would never forget the time he heard him say that. In truth it inspired him to be a hero. At least when he was younger. Ma and Pa said they'd support whatever decision he made in the future, but they wanted him to realise what being a hero meant. He'd no longer have any privacy, he'd belong to the public and to Vought. They would also take a special interest in him as he had powers just like Homelander. The news would eat all that up and he would soon see an army of reporters flooding Smallville to get any information on him they could.

Clark wanted to save people, he wanted to be a hero just like Silver Sentinel. But he also loved his life with his family and his friends, he liked working on the farm with his Pa and he liked Smallville. Despite not being their real son Ma and Pa had never treated him any different.

*Clark... you're my son, that's all you'll ever be, no matter where you came from or if you're human or not you are Clark Kent and I am your father*

Clark smiled as he looked out the window. He had a good life now, and maybe he wasn't a hero, but that wasn't too bad. Right?

_____________________________________

Annie hunched over the porcelain toilet in the cramped bathroom stall, her blonde hair falling in disarray as she retched violently, the acrid taste of bile and half-digested burger flooding her mouth. Her costume clung uncomfortably to her skin, the fabric bunching up around her knees as she knelt on the cold tile floor.

Outside the stall door, her mother, Donna January, stood with arms crossed, her face etched in a stern frown, lips pursed in disapproval. "Annie, I expected better from you," she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through the lingering echo. "That junk food? It's poison. You'll blow up like a balloon and won't fit into that costume. Do you want to ruin everything we've worked for?"

Annie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, the tang lingering as she pushed herself to her feet. She felt a wave of defeat wash over her, her reflection in the stall's small mirror showing puffy eyes and smeared makeup. "Mom, it was just one burger," she murmured in a small voice as she unlocked the door and stepped out. "The others were having them. It wasn't a big deal."

Donna's expression hardened further, her hands planting on her hips. "The others? Annie, listen to me. Those kids they don't have the bright future you do. They'll be stuck in the Young Americans forever, peddling their little gimmicks for scraps. But you? You're heading for greater things, real hero status. But not if you give in to every temptation that comes your way." She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a grave whisper. "The devil will tempt you, sweetheart, but you have to be strong. If you're going to be a good Christian, a true hero, you resist. You rise above."

Annie just stood there with her head bowed, as her mother's words rained down like blows, each one stinging deeper than the last. She nodded numbly, not daring to argue back, her hands twisting the hem of her costume.

Finally, Donna sighed, glancing at her watch. "Clean yourself up and make yourself presentable. There are lots of people coming to see the Young Americans today. Don't let them down."

"Okay, Mom," Annie whispered, her voice barely audible.

Donna gave her a curt nod and turned on her heel, the door clicking shut behind her. Alone now, Annie shuffled to the sink, turning on the faucet with trembling fingers. She cupped water to her mouth, swishing it around before spitting, then grabbed a bottle of mouthwash from her bag, gargling fiercely to banish the sour taste. Wiping her face with a paper towel, she stared into the mirror, her blue eyes meeting her own weary gaze. "You are a hero," she told her reflection firmly. "You will be perfect. You can be better."

She took a deep breath, straightening her posture and smoothing out her costume, composing herself until the vulnerability faded behind a mask. Then, she stepped out of the bathroom and back into the dressing room assigned to her. She sank into the chair, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to center herself.

A knock on the door shattered the quiet. "Miss Starlight?" a young runner called from outside.

Annie stood, opening the door a crack. "Yes?"

"Silver Sentinel wants everyone in the meeting room in five minutes," he said, clipboard in hand, looking harried.

"Thanks," she replied with a polite smile. "I'll be there in a minute."

As the runner hurried off, she closed the door and whispered to herself again, "You can be better." She checked her makeup one last time, adjusting her headpiece and ensuring every seam of her costume was flawless, before heading down the hallway to the meeting room.

When she walked in, Drummer Boy was already lounging in a chair, his red-and-blue outfit rumpled as he laughed mid-sentence with Holy Mary, who sat primly across from him in her flowing black and white robes. Alex looked up, his face lighting up with boyish excitement. "Annie! There you are. Where've you been hiding? This convention center's got a kickass breakfast buffet."

Annie forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes, staying tight at the corners. "I'm not feeling too hungry right now."

Holy Mary snorted softly, quickly masking it with a cough into her fist, her eyes flicking away innocently.

Alex shrugged, unfazed, popping a grape from a nearby fruit bowl into his mouth. "Suit yourself. But hey, you excited? Apparently, this is gonna be the largest gathering we've ever had. My rep tells me it's gonna boost our ratings through the roof."

Holy Mary nodded eagerly, her curls bouncing. "Totally. Higher ratings mean more opportunities—charity events, sponsorships. We could really make a difference... and yeah, the perks don't hurt."

Annie wasn't feeling the enthusiasm, a knot still twisting in her stomach, but she just smiled and nodded, murmuring a noncommittal "Yeah, sounds great."

"Come now, Drummer Boy, ratings aren't everything," a deep, resonant voice interjected from the doorway.

Silver Sentinel entered the room, his presence commanding immediate attention. He was an older man, lines of experience etched around his eyes and mouth, but still imposingly massive at around 6'5", his broad frame clad in gleaming silver armor that hugged his muscular build. Massive white wings arched from his back, and a long sword hung at his belt, its hilt etched with symbols.

"Our first priority is always to the people," he continued, as he took a seat at the head of the table. "Even if a person hates us, it's our duty to save them. That's what being a hero is."

Alex flushed a bit, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, sir. Got carried away."

Silver Sentinel smiled warmly, waving it off. "No need for that, Drummer Boy. You are learning, as you all are. And while I'd rather take you out there and show you what heroes do in the field, part of being a hero is appearances like these."

He leaned forward, his wings folding neatly. "So make sure you're on your best behavior. Feel free to show off a bit, but be humble. People like a hero who's relatable."

Pulling out a tablet, he scrolled through the schedule. "Itinerary for today: We'll start with a Q&A session, then a meet and greet with fans. After that, a mock spar, you three against some actors we've hired to play criminals. Keep it flashy but safe."

He glanced up. "There's a raffle as well. Starlight, you'll be handling that."

"A raffle?" Annie asked, tilting her head.

"Yeah, just a bunch of our merchandise as prizes—t-shirts, posters, that sort of thing. Though four of the prizes are one-on-ones with one of us. Quick chats, autographs, nothing major."

Silver Sentinel pocketed the tablet and stood. "That covers it. Our reveal's in less than an hour, so get ready. Let's make this a good one."

As the meeting wrapped up, Annie lingered in her seat, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the table while Drummer Boy and Holy Mary filed out, chatting animatedly about the raffle prizes. The door clicked shut behind them. She glanced up at Silver Sentinel, who was gathering his notes, and rose quietly, approaching him with hesitant steps.

"Um, Silver Sentinel?" she said tentatively. "Isn't... isn't what we're doing kind of a waste of time? I mean, is it smart to leave Des Moines and come all the way here? There could be things happening back there right now, while we're gone."

Silver Sentinel turned to her, his expression softening into a paternal smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling beneath his silver helm. He reached out a large, gauntleted hand and gently rubbed the top of her head, tousling her blonde hair slightly. "Ah, Starlight," he said warmly. "This is all part of being a hero. If we didn't do these appearances, the money wouldn't come in. And without that funding? We'd all be stuck working day jobs, scraping by with barely any time left to save people. It's the unglamorous side, but it's what keeps the lights on."

He tilted his head, studying her with a knowing look. "Hasn't your mother explained this to you?"

Annie nodded, her cheeks flushing under his gaze. "She has."

"Then listen to her," Silver Sentinel advised, his hand lingering a moment longer on her head before dropping to his side. "She's got a good head on her shoulders and knows this profession inside and out. Trust me, she's steering you right."

"Yes, sir," Annie murmured in a small voice, her eyes fixed on the floor.

"Good girl," he replied, his tone approving as he gave her shoulder a light pat. "Now, go get ready. We've got a show to put on."

_____________________________________

"Alright, everyone, you're free to explore the convention center," Mr Hargrove announced in his no-nonsense tone. "Check out the exhibits, meet some supes, have fun—but remember, do not leave the center without telling a teacher first. And make sure you're all back in the hotel lobby by 6 p.m. sharp. Got it? No excuses."

As the other students started to disperse like a flock of birds taking flight, Chloe threw her hands up dramatically and yelled, "We're free!" Her voice echoed slightly over the crowd, drawing a few glances from passersby.

The trio wasted no time diving into the sea of attractions. They wandered through the halls, eyes wide at the array of exhibits showcasing old hero memorabilia. There was Silver Sentinel's first costume on display—a sleek, metallic silver suit with a flowing cape, scuffed from early battles, mounted in a glass case.

Nearby, outfits from past members of the Young Americans hung in illuminated alcoves: the red-and-blue ensemble of Patriot Girl, the high-tech armor of Tech Titan, and the cloak of Nightshade, each with plaques detailing their heroic deeds.

Sam paused at one display, staring enviously at a group of cosplayers walking by in elaborate hero getups. "Man, I'm so disappointed I didn't dress up as a hero today," he grumbled, crossing his arms. "Look at all these people! I could've been, like, a mini A-Train or something. This is lame."

Chloe burst out laughing, nudging him with her elbow. "Oh please, Sam. You'd look ridiculous in spandex. What, you think you'd pull off the tights? You'd trip over your own feet."

Sam shot her a mock-glare. "Hey, I'd rock it! Clark, back me up here—tell her I'd make an awesome hero."

Clark, who had been geeking out over a holographic projection of a famous Young Americans battle, got pulled into the fray. "Uh, well... Sam's got spirit, Chloe. But yeah, maybe skip the cape..." He grinned, trying to play peacemaker.

Chloe rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. "See? Even Clark thinks you're better off in civvies. Face it, Sammy, you're more sidekick material."

Their conversation flowed easily as they laughed and teased each other, weaving through the crowds. They snapped selfies with oversized statues of heroes, debated the best superpowers—Clark voted for flight, Chloe for super-intelligence, Sam for invisibility "for pranks of course". They just generally soaked in the atmosphere, and had fhe kind of fun that made the day fly by.

As they rounded a corner near a food court area, Chloe rubbed her stomach. "Okay, after this, we gotta hit that ribs place we saw on the way in. I'm starving for some barbecue sauce action."

Sam nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! Extra spicy for me."

But before Clark could agree, a booming voice crackled over the speakers throughout the center: "Attention, all attendees! The Young Americans will be making their special appearance in the main hall in just 10 minutes! Don't miss it!"

"Golly, I guess we better put that food on hold," Clark said, his eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning.

Chloe snorted, nearly choking on her laughter. "Did you really just say 'golly'? What are you, from the 1950s?"

Clark rolled his eyes, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "Shut up, Chloe."

Sam cracked up, clutching his sides. "His mom would kill him if she ever heard a curse exit his mouth!" He told Chloe who started to laugh too.

"You guys suck," Clark said, pouting slightly.

"Golly gee willikers I'm sorry Clark!" Chloe said.

"Yeah, yeah," Clark muttered, shaking his head with a grin. "Come on, guys, let's go."

They joined the surge of people filing into the massive main hall, a large space with tiered seating and a stage bathed in colorful lights. The air buzzed with anticipation, fans chattering and waving glow sticks. Clark led the charge, weaving through the growing crowd with determination, Sam and Chloe trailing behind.

"Slow down, fanboy!" Chloe called out, giggling as she grabbed Sam's arm to keep up. "Look at him go, it's like he's meeting his long-lost family."

Sam snickered. "Yeah, Clark, chill! You're gonna elbow someone in the face just to get a front-row spot?"

Clark glanced back, undeterred but smiling. "You guys have no idea how cool this is. The Young Americans? Live? And the Silver Sentinel! This is legendary!"

They managed to squeeze their way toward the front, elbowing past clusters of excited attendees until they were just a few rows back from the stage. Clark was in full fanboy mode, bouncing on his toes and rattling off facts: "Did you know Silver Sentinel once took down an entire cartel? And his sword, it's not just a weapon, it channels pure energy!"

Chloe and Sam exchanged amused looks, whispering mockingly, "Nerd alert," but they were caught up in his enthusiasm too.

Suddenly, the lights dimmed, and the announcer's voice thundered through the speakers, riling up the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen! Are you ready to witness the guardians of tomorrow? The team that's saved our state time and again? Give it up for... the Young Americans!"

The crowd roared as spotlights sliced through the darkened stage. "First up, the sonic heartthrob—Drummer Boy!" Alex, stormed in, his garish drum-themed suit glinting as he clapped, unleashing a shockwave that rattled the hall.

"Next, the blessed savior, Holy Mary!" The supe moved onto the stage waving before settling her hands, clasped in pious grace.

"The radiant powerhouse, Starlight!" Annie, dressed in her white-and-gold costume,, electricity crackling as she lit up the stage with light blasts.

"And finally, the leader, the legend himself.... the Silver Sentinel!"

The crowd held its breath as Silver Sentinel soared onto the stage from above, his wings flapping and kicking up wind, his metallic suit reflecting the lights in a dazzling display. He landed with a heroic thud, drawing his iconic sword in one fluid motion. With a dramatic flourish, he thrust it forward, and a brilliant beam of light shot out, illuminating the hall in a cascade of energy.

The crowd roared, a deafening wave of applause and screams. Clark was right there with them, cheering at the top of his lungs, his face lit up with pure awe, pumping his fist in the air as if he were part of the team himself.

Silver Sentinel stood tall and imposing on the elevated stage, he sheathed his glowing sword back into its scabbard at his hip, the metallic clink resounding through the hall. The crowd, a sea of eager faces from wide-eyed kids to adults, fell into a hush as he approached the microphone stand at center stage. A faint smile played on his lips. "Folks," he started, "let me just say one thing... you're the real heroes here. Day in and day out, you stand by us through thick and thin. Your unwavering support is the fuel that powers our missions, the wind beneath our capes. It's because of everyday good American Christian's like you that we can rise up and protect this great nation from threats both seen and unseen. And let's not forget a shoutout to our incredible partners—Vought Industries, who equip us with the unbreakable gear we need, and Horizon Energy, who keep us hydrated just after a fight!"

The crowd erupted in cheers, hands clapping furiously, some fans waving homemade signs emblazoned with "Young Americans Forever!"

Clark, sandwiched between Chloe and Sam near the front, felt a surge of inspiration wash over him, his heart pounding as if the speech were directed right at him.

Silver Sentinel grinned wider, his teeth flashing white under the lights, and raised a gloved hand to quiet the roar. "Now I'm going to keep this short and sweet so we can all have fun here!"

"We're kicking off a raffle right here at the con—your chance to win exclusive Young Americans merch, like limited-edition signed posters, action figures straight from Vought's vaults, and even a coveted backstage pass to hang with the team! Make sure you grab your tickets at the booths scattered around the center; proceeds go toward our community outreach programs. And that's not all—we've got a cosplay contest firing up at 3 p.m. in Hall C, where you can show off your best hero impressions and win prizes. Then, at 5 p.m., join us for an interactive hero training workshop, where we'll teach you some basic self-defense moves inspired by our battles. But hold onto your seats, because here's the big news that's got everyone talking..." He paused dramatically, letting the suspense build, the crowd leaning forward in their seats.

"The Young Americans are expanding our reach!" he declared, his voice booming. "Soon, we'll be establishing a new team base right in Kansas City, watching over the heartland and ensuring that every corner of this beautiful country is safe and secure!"

The hall exploded once more in thunderous applause, feet stomping on the floor, creating a quake that vibrated through the seats. Clark was on his feet, cheering louder than anyone around him, his fists pumping high in the air, eyes sparkling with unbridled awe and a touch of envy—he could picture himself right there, part of that legacy.

Silver Sentinel raised his voice to cut through the crowd. "With your continued support, we'll solidify our place as the greatest superhero team this country's ever seen!" The crowd went absolutely wild, a storm of whoops, whistles, and chants of "Young Americans!" filling the air. Clark felt like he was vibrating with excitement.

As the ovation gradually subsided, the lights dimmed slightly, and the announcer bounded back onto the stage. "What an incredible show from our heroes! Don't miss the Young Americans' exclusive meet-and-greet and Q&A panel at 4 p.m. sharp in Hall B—get up close and personal, ask your burning questions! And remember, those raffle winners will be announced at 6 p.m. in the main lobby, so keep your tickets handy. Stay heroic, folks, and keep the spirit alive!"

The stage lights faded as the team struck heroic poses for one last photo op, then exited amid lingering cheers. Clark spun toward Chloe and Sam, his face flushed with adrenaline, practically bouncing on his toes. "Guys, we need to get those raffle tickets. This is our chance, imagine winning a backstage pass! I could actually talk to Silver Sentinel!"

Chloe, her blonde ponytail swaying as she smirked, nudged Sam with her elbow, "Whoa there, calm down, Fanboy Kent. You gonna camp out all day for a signed cape? Or maybe ask Silver Sentinel to autograph your forehead?"

Sam, grinning like a Cheshire cat, piled on without missing a beat. "Yeah, Clark, it's like you're straight out of a comic—'Oh, Silver Sentinel, please adopt me and teach me your ways!' Next thing, you'll be writing fanfiction about it."

Clark rolled his eyes, but a grin tugged at his lips despite the teasing—he was used to their ribbing, and it only fueled his determination. "Laugh it up, you two. I'm getting a ticket anyway. You'll be jealous when I win big."

The trio spilled out of the hall along with the dispersing crowd. Chloe stretched her arms overhead, her graphic tee riding up slightly to reveal a sliver of toned midriff, and let out a contented sigh. "Alright, after that hype, I'm starving. Let's finally hit that ribs place we spotted earlier."

Clark hesitated at the edge of the group, glancing toward the raffle booths visible in the distance. "You guys go ahead. I'm gonna grab a raffle ticket real quick. Want me to pick one up for you? My treat."

Chloe chuckled. "No, you're alright, Stan. Knock yourself out."

"That's low, Chloe," Clark replied, shaking his head with mock offense, though his smile betrayed him.

Sam jumped in. "Yo, Silver, I wrote you, but you still ain't callin'! I left my cell, my pager, and my home phone at the bottom!" Chloe doubled over, laughing harder, clutching her sides as tears pricked her eyes.

"Okay, okay, I'm going now," Clark said, mock-exasperated but chuckling along, waving them off as he turned and headed deeper into the convention center. He weaved through the bustling halls, dodging groups of fans debating hero power rankings, past booths showcasing holographic displays of epic battles and cosplayers striking poses for photos. The raffle stand was a colorful setup near the center, adorned with Young Americans banners and staffed by enthusiastic volunteers in branded tees. Clark reached it, already picturing his winning ticket, but as he patted his pockets for his wallet, his hand came up empty. "Oh boy..." he muttered under his breath, a wave of frustration washing over him. Of course he'd left it back at the hotel room, tucked safely in his duffel bag.

Clark pivoted and hurried toward the exit, his long strides eating up the distance. Pushing through the glass doors, he was immediately assaulted by a sudden, relentless downpour, fat raindrops splattering against his glasses and soaking his plaid shirt in seconds. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, the sky a swirling mass of dark gray clouds. "Gee, the weather sure is getting bad," he murmured to himself, pulling his jacket tighter around his broad shouldersl. Water streamed down his face, as he jogged across the parking lot to the adjacent hotel, his sneakers squelching on the wet pavement.

Once inside the hotel lobby, he shook off like a wet dog, ignoring the curious glances from other guests, and dashed up the stairs to his room. Fumbling with the keycard, he burst in, grabbed his wallet from the nightstand where he'd absentmindedly left it during check-in, and stuffed it into his pocket. No time to waste—he bolted back out, the rain even heavier now, wind whipping sheets of water sideways as he sprinted toward the convention center, his clothes clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

Just as he neared the entrance, his breath coming in puffs, a piercing, wailing siren shattered the stormy air, rising and falling in that unmistakable, bone-chilling pattern. Clark's stomach dropped like a stone; growing up in the tornado-prone plains of Kansas, he knew that sound all too well—it was the tornado warning siren, blaring from speakers mounted on poles throughout the city.

Adrenaline surged through him as he yanked open the doors and bolted inside. The convention center had transformed into a scene of utter chaos: attendees panicking in every direction, some rushing blindly toward exits only to be funneled back by security shouting instructions, others huddling under tables or against walls, clutching bags and loved ones.

Shouts echoed off the high ceilings—"Where's the shelter?" "Is it coming this way?"—mixed with the cries of scared children and the frantic beeps of cell phones receiving emergency alerts.

Clark's eyes darted wildly around the crowd, his heart racing in his chest as he pushed forward, calling out, "Chloe! Sam!" desperate to find his friends.

Clark concentrated hard, his superhuman senses sharpening as he tried to drown out the screams, shattering glass, and the relentless howl of the wind whipping through the convention center's corridors. He closed his eyes for a moment, blocking it all out, focusing on the familiar voices of his friends. After a few minutes he managed to pick up Sam and Chloe.  They were in the basement with the other students from their group, huddled together in what sounded like a reinforced shelter area, the teacher's voice droning on about staying calm. Clark let out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. At least they were safe for now.

But he couldn't shake the urge to assess the bigger threat. Pushing through the lobby, Clark slipped back outside into the storm, the rain lashing at him like icy needles, soaking his already drenched clothes to the skin. The sky was a vortex of black clouds, lightning cracking across the horizon. And there, barreling toward the city like a freight train, was a massive tornado. "Oh sugar..." Clark muttered under his breath, his eyes widening behind his rain-streaked glasses.

He didn't hesitate. Rushing back toward the entrance, Clark started herding the scattered crowds. "Everyone, get back inside! Head to the basement, it's the safest place! Move, now!" People were fleeing in all directions, some blindly running toward the parking lot, others frozen in terror.

He spotted a family stumbling in the wind and dashed over, helping them up, guiding them through the doors. "You're okay, just keep moving the basementis straight ahead!" More fell in the crush—an overweight guy in a hero cosplay tripping over his cape, a group of teens sprawling in a puddle—and Clark was there each time, lifting them effortlessly, as he urged them to safety.

Out in the streets, things kept getting worse. Cars swerved erratically, horns blaring as drivers tried to flee the city, but the wind was turning the roads into a nightmare. Vehicles skidded on the slick asphalt, crashing into each other. Screams pierced the air as people inside struggled, doors jammed, smoke rising from engines. The tornado moved closer, its roar like a thousand jets, debris swirling in its maw—billboards, roof tiles, even a parked bicycle twisting upward.

Clark jogged over without a second thought, his heart pounding. He yanked open a jammed car door with a subtle burst of super strength, pulling out a dazed driver whose forehead was bleeding. "You alright? Get to the convention center basement, quickly run!" He moved to the next, helping a woman and her kids from an overturned SUV, shielding them from flying debris with his body as the wind howled fiercer. All the while, the tornado inched nearer, its destructive path carving through the outskirts, power lines snapping like twigs.

What should he do? The question raced through Clark's mind as he worked. Should he stop it—reveal his powers, expose himself to the world? He'd kept his abilities hidden for so long, protecting his family, his life in Smallville. But people were dying out here. Lives hung in the balance.

The Young Americans are here, he reminded himself, glancing toward the convention center. They will stop it, right? Silver Sentinel and the team. But the wind escalated into a gale-force assault, ripping signs from buildings and hurling trash like shrapnel. Then, cutting through the wind, a terrified scream from above.

Clark's head snapped up, his enhanced vision piercing the storm—he saw a man, probably a maintenance worker or a fan, teetering on the edge of the convention center's roof, the wind shoving him toward the abyss. The guy lost his footing and plummeted.

Clark tensed to move, his body coiling like a spring, but in that split second, he saw a figure in white-and-gold move over the edge. Starlight. She grabbed Max's arm mid-fall. But the wind was too strong; her grip slipped on his rain-slicked jacket, and she teetered, her own balance failing as the gust pulled her over the edge too.

Clark didn't think a moment more. He launched off the ground in a blur flying upward, the air whooshing past him. Just as they both tumbled off the roof, Clark caught them, Starliht in one arm and the guy in the other. After flying back up to the roof he set them both down carefully. "You okay?" Clark asked, his voice steady despite the adrenaline.

The two stared at him, their faces pale with shock. Max, a lanky guy in a Vought staff uniform, shivered but nodded. Starlight, her blonde hair plastered to her face, her outfit clinging wetly to her body—blinked in disbelief but managed a nod too.

Clark's gaze shifted, spotting the source of a rotor noise—a sleek black helicopter on the far side of the roof, its blades whirring to life. Through the rain-streaked windows, he could make out the figures inside: Drummer Boy, Holy Mary, and at the center, Silver Sentinel himself, barking orders to the pilot.

Confusion hit Clark like a punch. "What... what are you doing?" he asked Starlight, turning to her. "Why are you leaving?"

He called out toward the chopper, "Hey! Wait!" but his voice was swallowed by the engine roar. The helicopter lifted off, banking away from the storm, leaving the city behind.

Starlight wiped rain from her eyes, her expression a mix of guilt and resignation. "The management team decided it was too dangerous to stay here. They ordered us to evacuate... said we couldn't risk the team's safety."

Clark's brow furrowed deeper. "But what about everyone else? Isn't Silver Sentinel going to help? That's what heroes do, protect people!"

Starlight looked away, her lips pressed thin, no answer forthcoming. The silence spoke volumes.

"Then why didn't you leave with them?" Clark pressed, his voice softer now.

She glanced at Max, who was still catching his breath. "I saw that Max was going to fall off, and I... I couldn't do nothing."

Clark smiled despite the situation, a genuine warmth breaking through. But that smile faded as the wind howled louder, the tornado's funnel now visible tearing through nearby buildings, debris vortexing higher.

"What do we do?" Starlight said, her voice trembling, eyes wide with fear—she looked out of her depth, the corporate polish cracking under real peril.

Clark glanced at the storm, then back at her. "Get people to safety. The basement of the convention center and the hotel—they're reinforced, should hold. Rally whoever you can."

Starlight nodded, a flicker of determination cutting through her scare, though her hands shook slightly. "Okay... okay, I can do that."

Without warning, Clark scooped her up in his arms—bridal style, around her waist and under her knees. She let out a startled scream, clutching his shoulders as the ground fell away. He flew them down swiftly to the ground, landing lightly amid the panicked crowds.

Then, with a nod to her, Clark launched back into the sky, soaring toward the heart of the storm.

He flew straight into the wind, his body cutting through sheets of rain at speeds that blurred the buildings below. His heart hammered in his chest. He was scared... the tornado filled his ears, louder than anything he'd heard before and only made louder by his powers. He had also never faced anything this big before and he didn't know what to do... But people were in danger, and he could help. That thought pushed him forward. He scanned the streets with his telescopic vision, picking out shapes in the storm; cars overturned, power lines snapping, roofs peeling off like paper.

He did not know how to stop a tornado. No one had taught him that.. and Pa had warned him about using his powers like this in the open, but this wasn't something he could just walk away from. Saving lives came first. He would grab people, pull them from wrecks, get them to cover. Them he would think about how to stop the tornado.

He looked down. Below, a semi-truck lifted off the ground, tires spinning in the air as the wind hurled it toward a cluster of twenty people huddled by a bus stop. They scattered, but five stayed frozen, arms over their heads. Clark dove with his arms outstretched. He slammed into the truck's undercarriage mid-air. Metal groaned as he wrapped his arms around the axle, twisting his body to roll with the momentum. He spun three full rotations, the truck's weight pulling at him, rain stinging his face, before he managed to stop it without breaking it in half. The truck stopped inches from a storefront, upright and intact. The people stared up at him, mouths open. A woman in the group whispered, "God... who are you?" Clark set the truck down and flew back, shouting, "Get inside! Now!"

He spotted a school bus tipped on its side, kids screaming inside as the frame buckled. Clark landed hard beside it, punched through the emergency door with one fist—metal bent like foil—and hauled the entire bus upright by the bumper. Glass shattered from the jolt, but he held it long enough for the driver to wave everyone out. A boy with a backpack pointed at him. "He lifted the bus!" Clark ignored the words, herding the kids toward a nearby store basement. But as he turned, a power pole snapped at the base, wires whipping like ropes toward the group. He exhaled a blast of super breath, the freezing gust coating the lines in ice mid-swing. They shattered on impact with the ground, harmless shards. The driver grabbed his arm. "Thank you, son. We thought we were done for, what hero team are you with?." Clark didn't say anything he just modded and launched skyward again.

Things were only getting worse.

Debris flew everywhere, rooftop AC units, street signs, chunks of billboard. He used his heat vision in short bursts, twin red beams slicing a falling girder before it crushed a parked car with a family inside. M He yanked the car's roof off next, pulling out the parents and their toddler, flying them somewhere safe. The father coughed as he struggled to breath in the storm. "You're... you're flying, just like Homelander!"

Clark set them down gently. "Just get to cover. Basement level if you can." He turned around to go by the man grabbed his arm; Clark could hear the man's heart thudding out of his chest, he was scared and he didn't want Clark to leave. But he had too, there were more people here that needed help.

He shot off into the sky cracking the ground underneath him and zooming through the air. Clark hoped the storm would be abating now, but it was only getting worse. He was working overtime trying to spot anyone in danger, but luckily he couldn't spot anyone.

"Crud!" Clark flew forward as he saw half a dozen cars being thrown out of the tornado and rolling across the street to a number of storefronts. In seconds he was there, he slammed shoulder first into one of them tearing it in half and stopping its momentum. He then took those two bits of car and threw them at two others which altered their trajectory and sent them into other cars. He then inhaled and blew at the other three cancelling their momentum and making them halt and slam onto the ground.

Clark stood there and took a deep breath. "I've got to deal with that Tornado..." he muttered to himself. He furrowed his brow, staring at the massive funnel cloud twisting violently across the landscape, uprooting trees and hurling debris like confetti. Punching it wouldn't work; tornadoes weren't solid foes he could smash. No, he had to think smarter. "Come on Clark use your head..." he whispered.

"Think! What do tornados need, what makes them." A few moments later an idea sparked in his mind. Tornadoes thrived on heat and instability in the atmosphere. They formed when warm, moist air near the ground rose rapidly into cooler air above, creating a powerful updraft that started spinning due to wind shear. The energy came from the condensation of that moisture, releasing latent heat that fueled the vortex. If he could disrupt that thermal engine, by cooling the warm air feeding the base of the tornado, it might starve the updraft, reducing the temperature gradient and causing the rotation to weaken and eventually dissipate. His breath could do just that, if he pursed his lips his super breath would drop on temperature, he'd tested it before but not much.

"Alright, let's give this a shot," Clark said aloud. He rocketed upward, ascending thousands of feet in a blink, positioning himself above the tornado's mesocyclone where the rotating updraft was strongest. The air grew thinner and colder naturally up here, but he needed to target the warm feeder currents below. Taking a deep breath, he pursed his lips and exhaled a massive blast of arctic air downward, channeling it like a precision beam into the heart of the funnel.

The freeze breath roared out, a shimmering cone of icy vapor that plunged into the tornado's base. For a moment, it seemed to worr. Frost formed on swirling debris, and the funnel wobbled slightly as pockets of air crystallized and fell, disrupting the flow. Clark poured more into it, his lungs straining as he blew harder, envisioning the scientific chain reaction: the cooled air sinking instead of rising, the updraft faltering, the rotation slowing to a halt.

But the tornado fought back. The storm was too massive, its energy drawn from a vast supercell thunderstorm that spanned miles. His breath cooled sections, but the surrounding warm air rushed in faster than he could freeze it, reigniting the vortex. Lightning crackled around him, and a surge of wind shear buffeted even his superhuman frame, forcing him to veer off course. Clark grunted, breaking off the attempt and hovering back, watching as the tornado continued its destructive path undeterred.

"Damn it," he muttered, wiping frost from his lips. "That should've worked... but it's too big. I need another way." He scanned the horizon, mind racing for a backup plan as the storm raged on.

His mind raced as he hovered there, the tornado drowning out everything else. His freeze breath had failed; the storm was too resilient, its thermal engine too vast to quench with cold alone. But tornadoes weren't just heat; they were rotation, a deadly dance of angular momentum born from wind shear in the atmosphere. If he could counter that spin... Tornadoes spun because of the Coriolis effect and differential winds creating vorticity, amplified by the updraft. The funnel was a vortex tube, air spiraling inward and upward at hundreds of miles per hour. If he flew into it in the opposite direction at supersonic speeds, he could generate an opposing torque. His body, moving like a high-velocity counter-rotor, would induce frictional drag and shear forces against the rotating air mass, disrupting the coherent spin.

Scientifically, it was akin to applying a reverse vortex: the added counter-momentum could cause the rotational energy to dissipate through turbulence, breaking the low-pressure core and forcing the winds to equalize with the surrounding atmosphere. It wasn't foolproof as tornados were a little chaoticc but at his speeds, he could theoretically unwind the funnel like unraveling a twisted rope.

"No time like the present," Clark breathed out, clenching his fists. He scanned the tornado's rotation and plotted his path. Diving in headfirst, he accelerated, his body a blur as he circled the outer edges in the opposite direction, building speed to create that counter-force.

At first, it was manageable. He sliced through the gale at Mach 1, then faster, his cape snapping like a whip behind him. The winds buffeted him, but he pushed harder, feeling the air resistance grow as he opposed the spin. Debris pinged off his invulnerable skin like hail on a roof. "Come on," he muttered, gritting his teeth. The funnel wobbled slightly, its edges fraying as his counter-rotation began to work.

But the storm wasn't yielding easily. The deeper he went, the fiercer the resistance, like swimming against a riptide that grew stronger with every stroke. His muscles burned under the strain—alien physiology or not, sustaining these speeds in such turbulence demanded everything he had. Sweat beaded on his forehead, evaporating instantly in the howling winds. He pushed to Mach 2, then Mach 3, the sonic booms echoing like thunderclaps within the tornado's event horizon. The air around him ionized, crackling with lightning as friction built static charges.

Then it hit

A bolt of lightning lanced out and struck him square in the chest. Pain exploded through his body, more than he'd ever felt... well ever. It wasn't just the voltage; he was tough enough to handle it, but the electromagnetic surge disrupted his bio-electric field, throwing him off balance. Clark tumbled out of the vortex, spiraling wildly through the air going through multiple buildings before he landed on the ground in a crater. "Argh!" he roared, clutching his side where the skin had singed.

"Mr Flying Man are you okay!" Someone yelled out as they rushed from the safety of a store to help him.

Clark lifted himself out of the crater holding his hand up as he tried to signal him to stop. "Wait... it's n-not..." it was difficult to speak, millions of volts of electricity had just surged through his body forcibly contracting and relaxing his muscles, even in his jaw.

The man came to him and helps him out of the crater. "Come on Mr Flying Man the basement is safe, safe place for you," he said trying to carry him in, but Clark pushed himself up, his body had managed to shake off the residual effects.

"Thank you... uh," Clark looked down and saw a name badge. "Salim, thank you, but you need to get back inside it's too dangerous being out here the tornado is almost right on top of us!"

"But what about you—"

Salim couldn't finish his sentence as he was thrown up into the air by Clark. A moment later Salim watched from the apex of his height as a Car slammed into Clark. But instead of it turning him into a bloody paste, he managed to catch it and throw it off to the side before catching him again. "Come on sir let's get you back inside," Clark said as he flew him to the doorway.

"Thanks for the help Salim, but I'm going to need you to keep everyone in here safe okay?" He said with a smile.

The man nodded his head and gave Clark two thumbs up. "I'll keep them safe Mr Flying Man!"

Clark smiled. "It's going to be okay everyone, I promise." He said before he floated out of the doorway and zoomed up into the sky.

He hung there looking at the tornado that didn't seem to be abating in the slightest. "Come on, Clark," he whispered to himself, his fists trembling. "Come on, Clark. You can do this." He took a deep breath .

With a yell, he launched back in, faster this time, ignoring the building ache in his limbs. Mach 1 blurred into Mach 2, his body a streak, cutting against the funnel. The winds screamed in protest, tearing at him, but he screamed back, a roar building in his throat as he accelerated. Lightning cracked again and struck him each strike like a hammer blow, jolting his nerves and hurling him sideways. Pain lanced through his arms, his legs, but he forced himself back on course, screaming louder: "Aaaargh! Not... stopping... me!"

Faster. Mach 3, Mach 4. The air superheated around him, his screams turning to guttural cries as another bolt nailed his shoulder, throwing sparks across his vision.

One more push. "COME ON!" Clark bellowed, his voice cracking under the strain. Lightning struck a final time, a massive fork that lit him up like a firework, pain so intense it nearly blacked him out. But he held on, surging to speeds beyond anything he'd done before, his counter-rotation finally overwhelming the vortex. The funnel twisted, contorted, and then, with a colossal whoosh, it unraveled. The spin collapsed inward, winds dissipating into harmless gusts as the low-pressure core equalized. Rain fell straight down now, the storm breaking apart above.

Clark emerged from the fading wind, battered and smoking, but with a smile on his face. He floated down, chest heaving, a weary smile breaking through the grime on his face. "That... that did it."

He felt drained for the first time in his life, but he wasn't done yet, there were no doubt a lot of injured people here. With the huge mess that the tornado had caused it'll be difficult for emergency services to get through here. The least he can do is clear the Main Street before he headed back to the convention centre.

Zooming down to the street he started the process of clearing the cars and trucks from the main road all the way to the hospital. It didn't take him long to do it with his speed and strength, which was good as too many people had seen him already, he was just glad he wasn't from here otherwise it might present a problem.

In around ten minutes he managed to clear a route that would let emergency services access most of the damaged areas, he then quickly flew to the back of the convention centre where he snuck back in. This whole trip had been a mess, but he had learned one thing during his time here.

He finally knew what he wanted to do in life.

_____________________________________

When the school bus finally pulled back into Smallville High's parking lot a couple days later, it was like stepping into a war zone. Parents were everywhere, some straight-up bawling, others looking like they'd aged a decade overnight from worry. The tornado had made national news, and word spread fast that the convention center in Kansas City had been right in the storm's path. As kids piled off the bus, moms and dads rushed forward, scooping them up in bone-crushing hugs, checking them over like they might've lost a limb or something. Whispers and sobs filled the air, folks thanking their lucky stars their teens had made it out unscathed.

Even Jonathan and Martha Kent were there, standing a bit apart from the crowd, their faces etched with that small concern only parents could pull off. Clark spotted them right away, his super-hearing picking up Martha's anxious mutter about the news reports. He turned to Sam and Chloe first, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.

"Hey, guys, catch you later? Glad we all made it back in one piece," Clark said with a grin, fist-bumping Sam and giving Chloe a quick side-hug. Sam nodded, still looking a bit shell-shocked from the whole ordeal, while Chloe smirked and said something about writing up the "tornado terror" for the school paper.

Then Clark headed over to his folks. "Ma, Pa," he started, but before he could get another word out, Martha was on him like a magnet, wrapping him in a tight hug that would've squeezed the air out of a normal kid.

"Clark!" she exclaimed, her voice muffled against his shoulder. She pulled back just enough to cup his face, eyes scanning him head to toe.

"I'm fine, Ma, really," Clark reassured her, patting her back gently. "Not a scratch on me."

Martha still fussed, straightening his shirt collar and brushing imaginary dirt off his sleeves. "Oh, honey, we were so worried. The storm looked awful on TV."

Jonathan stepped up then, his big hand clasping Clark's shoulder firmly, giving it a squeeze. "Glad you're safe, son," he said in a warm voice.

Clark smiled, feeling that familiar rush of gratitude for these two. "I was never in any danger, Pa. Promise."

Jonathan chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Yeah, we know that well enough."

Martha nodded, but her eyes were still wide with concern. "They've been posting some of the footage all over the news. You could even see—"

"Come on, dear," Jonathan interrupted gently, steering her toward the truck. "Let's talk about this at home. I'm sure Clark can tell us all about his trip once we get some food in him."

Martha hesitated for a second, then sighed and nodded. "You're right. Let's get you home, Clark. I've got a pie waiting that should still be warm."

They piled into the old red pickup, Clark sliding into the back seat while Jonathan took the wheel and Martha rode shotgun. As they pulled out of the lot, dodging the clusters of emotional reunions, Martha twisted around to face Clark. "So, how was the convention itself? Did you get to see all the heroes you wanted to?"

Clark's face lit up, the mental exhaustion from the tornado fight fading as he dove into it. "Oh man, Ma, it was awesome. I got to see Silver Sentinel up close, he did this whole demo where he flew down and showed his energy sword It's like nothing I've ever seen. And the Young Americans? They were there too and they were so cool."

Martha smiled, encouraging as always, even if she wasn't exactly a hero expert. "That sounds wonderful, honey."

"Totally," Clark geeked out, leaning forward. "I even got to meet one of them in person... though I didn't get to talk to her much."He kept rambling the whole drive back to the farm, describing panels, costumes, and epic stories he heard, his enthusiasm bubbling over. Martha nodded along, asking questions here and there to keep him going, while Jonathan just grinned in the rearview mirror, content to listen.

When they finally pulled up to the farmhouse, Clark hopped out first and bam, he was nailed right in the chest by a furry missile. Krypto, came barreling through the air, tackling him with excited yips and a barrage of sloppy licks all over his face.

"Whoa, easy boy!" Clark chuckled, dropping to one knee to wrestle with the pup, ruffling his white fur. "Calm down, Krypto. I'm happy to see you too, buddy."

Martha laughed softly as she got out. "He's been like that ever since you left for the trip. Pacing the yard and whining at the door."

Jonathan chuckled, reaching down to stroke Krypto behind the ears as the dog finally settled a bit, tail wagging like a propeller. "Damn mutt can't go five minutes without whining. Missed his favorite chew toy, I reckon."

They headed inside, Krypto trotting right on their heels, his paws barely touching the ground in his excitement. Martha ushered Clark straight to the kitchen table. "Sit down, sit down. I'll get some iced tea for everyone."

Clark plopped into his usual chair. Jonathan sat across, kicking back with a sigh, while Martha bustled around, pouring tall glasses of sweet tea from the fridge. She set them down, then joined them, her hands folding neatly on the table. Clark took a long sip, the cool drink hitting the spot after the long bus ride. But as he set the glass down, he sighed inwardly. He could feel it coming. The one about what really went down in Kansas City, and that footage Martha had almost mentioned. Yeah, this was gonna be interesting.

Martha leaned forward a bit, her iced tea forgotten on the table as she fixed Clark with that knowing mom look. "That tornado in Kansas City... it was all over the news, honey. But all anyone could talk about was the super who stopped it. Videos popping up everywhere, people saying it was like something out of a movie."

Jonathan set his glass down with a soft clink, eyeing Clark over the rim of his own. "You know anything about that, son?"

Clark glanced down at his hands, fiddling with the condensation on his tea glass for a second. He could hear their heartbeats picking up, but not too much. No point in dodging it, they already knew. He looked up, meeting their eyes straight on. "Yeah. It was me. I stopped the tornado."

The words hung in the air got a moment. He pushed on before they could jump in. "I'm not sorry about it. People were at risk... I couldn't just stand by and do nothing when I knew I could help."

Jonathan and Martha went silent for a moment, exchanging a quick glance. The kitchen felt quieter than a graveyard, Krypto even pausing his tail-wagging to tilt his head at them. Then Jonathan cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair. "Clark, we aren't mad about what you did."

"Not at all, honey," Martha added quickly, reaching over to put her hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. "We're so proud of you for helping all those people. You saved lives out there."

Clark blinked, his eyebrows shooting up in genuine surprise. He'd braced for the lecture, the worry, maybe even some disappointment. "I... I thought you'd be mad," he admitted, his voice a little softer than usual.

Jonathan shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Clark, we'd never be mad at you for doing the right thing. That's not how we raised you."

"But there is something we need to talk about," Jonathan continued, his tone shifting to something more serious. He paused, then added, "Before we do, though... don't you have something you want to tell us?"

Jonathan and Martha both looked at him expectantly, like they already knew the punchline but wanted him to say it.

Clark was quiet for a moment, staring into his tea as the words formed in his mind. Then he nodded, lifting his gaze with a resolute spark in his eyes. "Ma... Pa... I want to be a hero."

Jonathan's expression softened, and he glanced at Martha, who gave him a subtle nod. She placed a hand on his shoulder before standing up. "I'll be right back," she said, slipping out of the kitchen toward the back of the house.

Jonathan pushed back from the table. "Why don't we take this out to the porch? Sun should be setting soon—always clears the head."

Clark nodded mutely, grabbing his glass as he followed his dad outside. The screen door creaked behind them, and they settled into the old wooden chairs overlooking the fields. Krypto bounded out too, curling up at Clark's feet with a contented huff. The air was cooling off, the sky starting to paint itself in oranges and pinks as they sipped their tea in silence for a few minutes, just watching the sun dip toward the horizon. Finally, Jonathan broke the quiet. "I knew this day would come, son. Ever since you got that first Homelander doll when you were little, begging us to let you watch those hero shows. The thought terrified me, if I'm being honest."

Clark turned to him, listening intently as Jonathan stared out at the fading light. "Even with how... different you are, thinking about your son going out there, putting himself in danger... it's a terrifying thought for any parent."

"But you're grown up now," Jonathan went on, turning to face him. "Nearly a man. And being a man means making your own choices and standing by 'em."

He took a sip of his tea, then set it aside. "I say this because being a hero isn't like the shows or comics you used to read, though. It's not all glamour and shine like you think."

"I know, Pa," Clark started, but Jonathan held up a hand gently.

"What I mean to say, Clark, is that this isn't a game or a hobby. People will put their lives in your hands, and you have to take that responsibility seriously."

"I will, Pa—"

"Clark, people are going to die under your watch. You do what you can, but you can't save everyone. Not even you," he interrupted.

Clark's jaw tightened a bit, but he met his dad's eyes. "That may be true, Pa, but it doesn't mean I won't try."

Jonathan chuckled softly. "I'd expect no less. You're a good person, Clark. You have a good heart. It's why I know I don't have to worry about you becoming a hero."

He reached over, touching Clark's shoulder firmly. "I know whatever happens, you'll do the right thing."

Clark felt a swell of emotion in his chest, but he managed a nod. "If you want to be a hero... you got me and Ma's full support."

"What about you and Ma? I don't want people bothering you here on the farm," Clark commented.

Jonathan waved him off with a grin. "We'll be fine. I'll oil up my old shotgun, that'll keep folks away."

Clark chuckled at that, shaking his head. "Just don't be too hard on them, Pa."

"They'll be begging for the shotgun if your Ma gets to them first," Jonathan replied.

Clark laughed outright, the tension easing as the sun finally slipped below the horizon, leaving a soft glow in its wake.

"Thanks, Pa."

_____________________________________

Over in Des Moines, Annie sat in a stuffy conference room at the local Young Americans base, picking at her nails under the table. The place reeked of coffee and it was much too loud here, with a bunch of PR agents huddled around a big screen replaying clips from the Kansas City tornado. Silver Sentinel sat at the head of the table like a silver-plated statue, with his arms crossed, while the rest of the Young Americans sat off to the side, mostly just nodding along. The agents were deep in spin mode, trying to turn their total no-show into some kinda victory lap, and yeah, it was mostly aimed at making Silver Sentinel look like the big hero.

One of the agents, a guy with a too-tight tie and a nervous tic leaned forward. "We could feed the outlets a line about how we strategically spread the Young Americans across the city to maximize coverage, help everyone equally, you know? Show the team's all about that coordinated response and fights against racism and inequality."

Another agent chimed in. "Eh, that might backfire. People could call it out as us just scattering 'cause we couldn't handle the core threat. Makes us look uncoordinated."

"Yeah, but it emphasizes teamwork," the first guy pushed back. "Paints Silver Sentinel as the mastermind directing from the front lines—"

"Idiotic," Silver Sentinel cut in, his voice like a whip crack, making everyone freeze. His metallic helmet gleamed under the fluorescents as he slammed a fist on the table, not hard enough to break it but close. "That was an idiotic idea from the jump. Spreading thin in a storm like that? We look like fools." He leaned in, his eyes narrowing behind his visor. "Now, tell me you've got something on this hero who crashed my city. Who the hell was it?"

The agents shifted uncomfortably, the lead one swallowing hard. "Uh, sir, we... we don't know yet. All the footage is low-res.. The guy's a blur in the video. We can confirm he flies, and he's way stronger than your average super."

Silver Sentinel took a deep breath, his armored chest rising and falling. "You're not telling me the damn Homelander was here, are you?"

"No, sir, no way," the agent stammered, holding up his hands. "Colors don't match at all. Definitely not him."

"I want info on this unknown super ASAP. Now get out," Silver Sentinel barked, pointing at the door.

The agents filed out quick, mumbling apologies, leaving the room in awkward silence. Silver Sentinel stood up, turning to face the Young Americans.

"Listen up," he said, his tone all business. "Next few days, you're out on the streets, clearing debris, handing out supplies, photo ops with survivors. We need eyes off this mystery flyboy and back on us. Smile for the cameras, sign some autographs, make it look like we're the ones rebuilding Kansas City brick by brick."

He kept going, rattling off the schedule; morning debris lifts, afternoon meet-and-greets at shelters, evening interviews where they'd gush about "team effort" and "Vought's commitment." Annie sat there, gripping the arms of her chair tighter with every word, her stomach twisting. It all felt so fake, so wrong, like they were just actors in capes, not real heroes.

Finally, she couldn't hold it in. "It's not right!" she blurted out.

Everyone went dead silent. Drummer Boy and Holy Mary whipped their heads her way, with their eyes wide, while Silver Sentinel's frown deepened, his silver armor creaking as he turned fully toward her. Annie swallowed, but she pushed on, channeling every bit of bravery she had left. "We just left. We're supposed to be heroes, but we bailed on everyone. Didn't even stick around to help."

"Come on, Starlight," Drummer Boy said, rolling his eyes a little. "It was a tornado. What were we supposed to do?"

"Yeah, not exactly in our wheelhouse," Holy Mary added with an eyeroll of her own, crossing her arms. "We're not weather heroes."

"But it just doesn't seem right," Annie pressed, her voice shaking a tad. "We didn't even try to help people get to safety. You guys just flew off in that helicopter like it was nothing."

"Enough!" Silver Sentinel boomed, shutting them all up instantly.

He pointed at the other two. "Drummer Boy, Holy Mary out. Run your lines until you can say them blindfolded. Go."

"Yes, Silver Sentinel," they muttered in unison, grabbing their stuff and bolting, shooting Annie sympathetic-but-wary glances on the way out.

The door clicked shut, and Silver Sentinel stepped closer to Annie, towering over her chair. His presence felt heavier up close, like the air got thicker.

"Starlight," he said in a tone that sent chills down her spine. "You're new here, so I'll chalk this up to inexperience. But heroes like us? We succeed as a team. And if someone's not pulling their weight... not being a team player, it gets noticed. Now that could mean you're out, back to square one, no cape, no spotlight, no nothing. You understand me? We can't afford lone wolves dragging us down."

It was subtle, no outright threats, but the implication hit like a gut punch. Annie went stiff in her seat, her muscles locking up, breath catching in her throat like it was stuck. Her heart hammered wild in her chest, vision narrowing at the edges. Silver Sentinel leaned in just a fraction more. "Now, tell me you'll be a team player."

"I'll... I'll be a team player," she whispered, the words tumbling out on autopilot.

"Good." He straightened up, gave her a curt nod, and strode out, the door slamming behind him.

Annie sat there alone, her chest heaving as breaths came in short, ragged gasps. Her hands trembled on the armrests, palms slick with sweat, and a wave of dizziness hit her hard, making the room spin. Everything felt too confined, too loud. Her pulse thundering in her ears, throat closing up like she couldn't get enough air. She bolted up suddenly, and rushed to the bathroom down the hall, barely making it to the stall before she hurled into the toilet, the acid burn hitting her throat. She stayed there a minute, heaving, then dragged herself to the sink. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she turned on the faucet, splashing water to rinse out the taste. In the mirror, her face stared back, she was pale with tear streaks carving paths down her cheeks, eyes red and puffy.

"Be better," Annie whispered to her reflection one more time, splashing more water on her face. "Be better." She stopped, staring at her drippy, messed-up makeup in the mirror, and her mind drifted to that hero... the one who'd swooped in and saved everyone from the tornado. He hadn't even hesitated, just dove right into the storm like it was nothing. Despite the fact  he looked about her age, maybe a year or two older, tops. Tall, kinda built, with that messy dark hair. But with zero hesitation. He'd risked everything while she...

She wished she could've been like that. Brave, selfless. Instead, she'd been so damn scared, her powers feeling useless against that roaring monster of a storm. In the end, all she could do was cower in the basement with the others, waiting for it to pass. Pathetic.

What bugged her most, though, was Silver Sentinel. Why'd he bail on everyone? He was such a famous hero, a top-tier silver age hero, with that shiny armor and the ability to fly, shoot blasts of energy from his sword. He was amazing, or at least that's what the she thought. So why didn't he stay and at least help get people to safety? Evacuate the stragglers, shield folks from debris... something, anything. It didn't add up.

She didn't know. Mayeb she was just stupid.

Annie sighed, wishing she could see that boy again. Just once, to thank him properly for what he did. For stepping up when they failed. 'But I'll probably never see him again,' she thought, drying her face with a paper towel. He wasn't dressed like a hero, just in regular clothes. So maybe he wasn't one, not officially. Some kid with powers keeping it quiet, though she didn't know why, his powers were amazing.

But... she wouldn't tell her team anything about him; he deserved his privacy, just like they all did in their off-hours.

She finished up in the bathroom, fixing her hair as best she could and wiping away the last of the tear streaks. Then she headed out, weaving through the hallways toward the team's cafeteria. It was buzzing with staff and a few other staff grabbing snacks, but her eyes zeroed in on her mom chatting with one of the team's managers—a woman named Carla Ruiz.

Her mom spotted her coming and flashed that smile—the one with zero warmth behind it, all teeth and performance. It was the same smile she'd get back in the pageant days, or when Annie first got the call about joining the Young Americans. Proud, but not the real kind, more like she's happy for herself.

"Annie! I was just about to come find you," her mom said, waving her over with that manicured hand.

"Mom, I wanted to ask if we could go ho—"

Her mother waved her off mid-sentence, not even letting her finish. "Hold that thought, sweetie. Carla here has some very good news for you."

Carla beamed, pulling out her tablet like it was a golden ticket. "Annie, your ratings have skyrocketed up 15 points overnight. The public's eating you up."

Annie blinked, caught off guard. "Wait, how? I mean... what did I do?"

Carla tapped the screen and held it up, playing a grainy video clip, cell phone footage from the convention cente. There she was, her suit glowing a bit, herding a group of panicked folks through the doors, yelling for them to get inside. It looked heroic as hell, edited with dramatic music overlays that someone must've slapped on quick.

"See? People are already tweeting about it—#StarlightSaves is trending in the Midwest," Carla gushed, going full PR mode. "We've got influencers reposting, news outlets looping it. It's gold, Annie. Shows you're the girl next door who steps up in a crisis. We're capitalizing big time, we have interviews lined up, merch drops with that tagline, maybe even a quick PSA on storm safety. Your mom's thrilled, aren't you, Donna?"

Her mom nodded vigorously, that smile still plastered on. "Absolutely. This is exactly what we needed to push you forward."

Annie stood there, forcing a smile back, but inside? She didn't feel happy at all. Ratings were everything—they were her ticket to getting noticed by The Seven. But this? She didn't earn it. That clip was just her doing the bare minimum, panicking as much as helping. The real hero was that mystery guy, the one who actually stopped the tornado. She was getting credit for something she barely did, riding the wave while he vanished without a trace.

She wanted to say something... spill it all out, tell them it wasn't her that deserved this. But the words stuck in her throat. She couldn't do it, not with her mom staring expectantly and Carla already typing up schedules.

She couldn't even finish asking to go home. Just stood there, smiling and nodding.

_____________________________________

(6 Months Later)

Months had zipped by since that trip to Kansas City and Clark had thrown himself into training like his life depended on it. Or rather, like other people's lives did. The Young Americans auditions were coming up soon,, and he was dead set on nailing it and becoming one of their heroes. But before that he had to train his powers No more half-assed heroics; he promised himself he'd be the kind of hero who saved everyone, but he couldn't do that if he was just going on instinctt. That tornado had been a wake-up call, he'd barely pulled it off. Next time he had to ge better.

Out in the back fields of the Kent farm, under a crisp autumn sky, Clark was at it again. Krypto zoomed alongside him, the super-dog's white fur a blur as they raced over the cornstalks. "Alright, boy, let's work on pursuit maneuvers," Clark called out. He banked sharp left, testing his flight control, weaving through imaginary obstacles. Krypto barked happily, matching him turn for turn, his tail wagging mid-air. Clark had been drilling this for months, fine-tuning his speed so he could snatch people out of danger without accidentally turning them into paste while at Mach whatever.

Next up was strength control, the tricky part. Clark touched down in a cleared patch of dirt, spotting a massive old tractor tire Jonathan had dragged out for practice. "Easy does it," he muttered to himself, crouching down and gripping the edge. He lifted it slowly, and started tossing it around like he was juggling, handling it like cradling a fragile egg instead of hurling it. Too much force, and he'd launch it into orbit; too little, and he wouldn't be effective in a real rescue. Krypto bounded over, nosing at the tire like it was a giant chew toy, and Clark chuckled. "Not yet, buddy. Watch this." He hefted it overhead with one hand and the zoomed across the term and caught it before it fell and managed to catch it while still using a soft amount of strength, then gently set it back down without so much as a thud. Better. Way better than when he'd first started and accidentally embedded it in the barn wall.

They moved on to heat vision drills—Clark's eyes glowing red as he targeted a row of tin cans lined up on a fence post a hundred yards away. "Focus, Clark. Pinpoint." He exhaled, firing quick bursts, melting each one without scorching the wood behind them. Krypto yipped in approval, fetching the slag remnants like it was fetch. Clark had messed this up early on, turning a whole hay bale to ash by accident, but now? He was near surgical. This was his most dangerous ability, he had to make sure that he always had control of it, otherwise he could really hurt people.

Clark continued training as he always did, moving onto to objects as fragile as eggs that he would carry when travelling at high speeds. They made for the best instructors as he figured he could just as easily scramble a brain as he could an egg. Eventually though he managed to fly without causing any damage at all, it was a proud moment for him.

As the sun dipped lower, Clark wrapped up with a relaxing flight, lapping the farm at subsonic speeds, Krypto hot on his heels trying to nip at him making Clark laugh. He was finally doing it, he was finally going to be a hero. After a while Krypto finally flopped down in the grass, tongue lolling, and Clark joined him, ruffling his fur. "Good work today, boy. We're getting there."

"Alright, boy, that's enough for today," Clark said, giving Krypto a scratch behind the ears. The pup let out a contented woof, bumping his head against Clark's leg like he was saying, 'Good job, boss.' Clark chuckled, feelong good about his progress, but right now, all he could think about was the smell of Ma's cooking wafting from the farmhouse. Dinner time.

He walked over and pushed open the screen door. The kitchen was filled with warmth, steam rising from pots on the stove, the sizzle of something frying, and that cozy glow from the overhead light that made everything feel homey. Martha was at the counter, apron tied around her waist finishing up dinner , while Jonathan sat at the table, nursing a cup of coffee and flipping through the local paper. Krypto bounded in ahead, making a beeline for his water bowl and lapping it up noisily before flopping down by the fridge with a sigh.

"Smells amazing in here, Ma," Clark said, kicking off his boots by the door and padding over in his socks. He leaned down to give her a quick peck on the cheek.

Martha beamed up at him, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Well, someone's worked up an appetite. Training go well hun?"

"Yeah, pretty good, I think I'm finally ready, me and Krypto," Clark replied, glancing at the dog who perked up at his name, tail thumping the floor. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water from the sink, chugging it down while leaning against the counter.

Jonathan folded the paper and set it aside, his chair scraping back a bit as he looked over. "That's my boy. Just remember, it's not all about the criminals and the fighting. Sometimes the real hero work's in the small moments, like helping a neighbor fix a fence or listening when someone's hurting."

Clark nodded, setting his glass down. "I know, Pa. That's why I'm doing this. I don't really care about the spotlight, i just want to help."

Martha wiped her hands on a dish towel and shooed him toward the table. "Alright, you two philosophers, sit down. Dinner's almost ready, pot roast with all the fixings. Carrots, potatoes, fresh bread I baked this morning. And apple pie for dessert, 'cause I know it's your favorite, Clark."

Clark's stomach growled right on cue, and he laughed, pulling out a chair. "You read my mind, Ma." He settled in across from Jonathan, the wooden table worn smooth from years of family meals just like this. Krypto wandered over and rested his head on Clark's knee, big brown eyes begging for a scrap already. Clark snuck him a gentle pat under the table. "No begging, boy. You'll get yours after."

Jonathan smirked, reaching over to ruffle Krypto's fur too. "Spoiled mutt. But yeah, he's earned it, running around with you all afternoon."

Martha bustled over with plates, dishing out generous portions—the roast tender and falling apart, gravy pooling around the veggies, steam curling up like a hug. She sat down last, unfolding her napkin with a satisfied sigh. "Alright, dig in before it gets cold."

They bowed their heads for a quick grace.m, Jonathan leading with his usual simple words: "Lord, thank you for this food, this family, and another day on this good earth that I get to spend with them. Amen." Clark and Martha echoed the amen, and then it was forks clinking, they all started digging in.

"Pass the salt?" Jonathan asked, Martha obliged while humming softly under her breath like she always did when she was happy. Clark savored every bite, the flavors exploding on his tongue: the savory beef, the buttery potatoes, the hint of rosemary Martha always added. It was home in a meal, he didn't think he needed to eat, but when food like this was on the table you could be damn sure he was going to.

"So," Martha said after a bit, breaking the silence as she speared a carrot, "tell us more about these auditions coming up. You nervous at all?"

Clark swallowed a mouthful, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "A little, yeah. I'm sure there are going to be a hundred different kids trying out, all with powers too."

Jonathan nodded slowly, his fork pausing mid-air. "You'll do fine, son. You've got something those other kids might not, a good head on your shoulders and a heart in the right place. If they don't see that then they don't deserve to have you."

Clark felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the food. "Thanks, Pa. Means a lot." He glanced at Martha, who was watching them both with that soft, proud smile. "And Ma, seriously, this roast is killer. Better than last time, even."

"Oh, go on," she said, waving him off but blushing a tad. "It's the same recipe I've used for years. But I'm glad you like it. Eat up, a growing boy like you needs his fuel." She reached over and squeezed his hand briefly. They chatted more as the meal went on;; light stuff at first, like the neighbor's new calf or the upcoming harvest festival in town. Jonathan shared a funny story about the co-op meeting where old Mr. Wilkins got into a debate over fertilizer brands, complete with exaggerated impressions that had Clark snorting into his water glass. Martha laughed along, her eyes sparkling, and even Krypto perked up, letting out a playful bark like he got the joke.

But as plates emptied, the conversation drifted deeper, the way it often did around this table. "You know," Martha said, leaning back in her chair, "I was thinking about your grandma today. She would've been so proud of you, Clark. The way you're stepping up, wanting to help folks... it's like her spirit in you."

Clark's throat tightened a bit, memories of his grandma's stories and hugs flooding back. "Yeah? I miss her pies almost as much as I miss her."

Jonathan chuckled softly. "She did make a mean cherry. But seriously, son we're proud too. Every day. Not just for the powers, but for who you are. Kind, honest. The world's gonna need that more than lent of those powers you have."

Clark met his dad's gaze. "I couldn't have done any of this without you two. Adopting me, teaching me... everything. I love you guys."

Martha's eyes misted up, and she dabbed at them with her napkin. "Oh, honey. We love you too. More than words."

Jonathan cleared his throat, always the stoic one, but his voice was gruff with emotion. "Damn right. Now, who's ready for pie?"

They all laughed, the moment lightening as Martha got up to slice the dessert. Clark helped clear the plates, stacking them by the sink while Krypto trailed him, hoping for crumbs. The pie was perfect—flaky crust, tart apples, a scoop of vanilla ice cream melting on top. They ate slower now, savoring, sharing more stories: Clark recounting a funny mishap from training where he'd accidentally singed a scarecrow, Jonathan talking about his own youthful adventures, Martha reminiscing about their wedding day on the farm.

By the time they finished, the kitchen clock ticked toward eight, dishes done in a team effort, with Clark washing, Martha drying, Jonathan putting away. Krypto got his own bowl of kibble mixed with roast scraps, wolfing it down like a champ. The family migrated to the living room, Jonathan flipping on the old TV for the evening news, Martha settling into her knitting, Clark stretching out on the couch with Krypto's head in his lap.

It was days like this Clark loved the most and ones he knew he would miss in the future.

Martha suddenly sat up straighter in her armchair, her knitting needles pausing mid-stitch. "Oh! I almost forgot," she said, setting her yarn aside and standing up with a little bounce in her step. Her eyes sparkled with that secretive mom excitement, the kind she got when she'd baked an extra batch of cookies or managed to actually surprise Clark.

Clark looked up from scratching Krypto's belly, eyebrow raised. "Forgot what, Ma?"

She waved him off with a grin. "Just wait right there. I'll be back in a jiffy." She hurried off toward the back of the house, leaving Clark and Jonathan exchanging puzzled glances. Krypto tilted his head, letting out a curious whine.

Jonathan shrugged, sipping his decaf coffee. "Your ma's been up to something in that sewing room of hers. Don't ask me... I know better than to pry."

A minute later, Martha came back, holding a neatly folded bundle wrapped in plain brown paper, tied with a bit of twine. She handed it to Clark. "Here, honey. I made this for you. Been working on it in secret for a while now, ever since you told us about wanting to be a hero."

Clark took it carefully, unwrapping the paper with curious fingers. As the fabric unfolded, his eyes went wide. It was a hero outfit. A blue suit with red accents, a flowing cape, red boots, and an S emblem on the chest in yellow and red. His own hero outfit... like something straight out of his comic book dreams, but tailored just for him. "Ma... you made this? It's... it's perfect and the S is for—"

Martha nodded. "You knew what you wanted your name to be so I had something to work with." Martha beamed, clasping her hands together. "I figured you'd need something proper if you're gonna go out there saving the world. Used some tough fabric I ordered special, should hold up to whatever you throw at it. Go on, try it on! I wanna see how it fits."

Clark jumped up, grinning ear to ear, and pulled her into a big hug, lifting her off her feet just a tad before setting her down gently. "This is amazing, Ma. Thank you so much." He could feel the love stitched into every seam, and it hit him right in the heart.

She laughed, patting his back. "Oh, you're welcome, sweetie. Now scoot, go change!"

Clark nodded, clutching the outfit, and headed to his room upstairs. He stripped down quick, slipping into the suit, it fit like a glove, hugging his frame without restricting movement, the cape swishing dramatically as he turned. He glanced in the mirror, flexing a bit, and yeah, it felt right. Heroic. He jogged back down, boots thumping softly on the stairs.

Jonathan and Martha were waiting in the kitchen, and when he stepped in, both their faces lit up. Jonathan let out a whistle, setting his mug down. "Well, look at you, son. Suits you perfect. You look like a real hero."

Martha nodded enthusiastically, her hands over her mouth for a second before she dropped them, smiling wide. "Oh, Clark, it fits just right! You look so handsome, so... heroic. Like you were born to wear it."

Clark's cheeks warmed a bit, but he grinned back, stepping over to hug her again, careful with his strength. "Thanks, Ma. Really, this means everything." He held her close for a moment.

She squeezed him back, then pulled away with a wink. "Alright, alright, enough mush, it was the least I could do."

"I'm gonna take this out for a test drive," Clark said with a smile, already itching to feel the wind.

"Be back by 10, okay?" Martha said, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

"Yeah, Ma," he promised, giving Pa a nod before heading out onto the porch. The night air was cool and crisp, stars twinkling overhead. He took a deep breath, then shot into the sky like a rocket, cracking the air with a sonic boom as he accelerated. He passed the clouds in mere moments, the farm shrinking to a speck below, higher and higher until the atmosphere thinned out and he burst into the vacuum of space.

He floated there for a moment, weightless, the Earth a glowing blue marble below. He liked coming up here; it felt rejuvenating in a way he didn't feel on Earth.  Clark looked out at the stars, endless pinpricks of light stretching into infinity. He had no idea where he came from. But it didn't matter. Earth was home. And tomorrow, he could finally start protecting it.

...

The day was finally here, and Clark felt like his stomach was doing flips, his knees felt weak, even though he could bench-press a semi-truck without breaking a sweat. He'd suited up in the hero outfit Ma had made and shot off from the farm at dawn, waving goodbye to his folks and Krypto from the air. The flight to Des Moines was smooth, but his mind raced the whole way. Auditions for the Young Americans—Vought's big teen hero squad. They were supposed to be in Kansas City originally, but with the tornado cleanup still dragging on months later, they'd shifted everything to the team's main base here in Iowa.

Clark touched down lightly on a rooftop first, getting there way early to scope things out. He hovered above the city, taking in the sprawl of buildings, the rush of morning traffic, the Mississippi River snaking through. It was nice enough but he wasn't really a city boy. Give him Smallville's open fields and quiet nights any day. Still, this was where the action was, so he sucked it up, nerves buzzing like a hive of bees in his chest.

When he finally descended, dropping right in front of the Young Americans HQ he turned a few heads. Hundreds of other attendees milled around outside, all in their makeshift costumes or flashy getups, but not many could fly. Whispers rippled through the crowd as he landed with a soft thud, cape settling dramatically. "Whoa, check out the flyer," someone muttered. Clark just smiled politely, ignoring the stares, and headed inside.

The lobby was packed, a sea of anxious teens and tweens clutching registration papers. Clark joined the line at the front desk, shuffling forward until it was his turn. The receptionist, a no-nonsense woman with a clipboard and a Vought pin, looked him up and down.

"Name?"

"Superman," Clark said, keeping his voice at a lower octane than it normally was.

She tapped at her computer, then raised an eyebrow. "No civilian ID listed. You know that reduces your marketability, right? Vought likes the full package when signing someone."

Clark shrugged, though his gut twisted a bit. "Yeah, I get it. But I'm keeping that private for my family's sake."

She sighed, clearly annoyed, but handed him a number badge anyway. "Fine, we can't force it legally. But good luck with that. Head to waiting room B; they'll call your number when it's time."

"Thank you Ma'am," Clark said with a genuine smile, tipping his head before weaving through the crowd to the waiting area. It was a big room with rows of chairs, vending machines in the corner, and a TV droning some Vought promo reel. He plopped down in a seat near the back, knee bouncing despite himself. Numbers got called over the intercom every few minutes—"Contestant 47, proceed to audition hall." "Contestant 52..."—and kids would stand up, some pumped, others looking like they might puke, and disappear through a door.

Clark couldn't help but peek with his x-ray vision, scanning through the wall to the audition area beyond. It was a big gym-like space a panel of judges, but no Silver Sentinel or the Young Americans themselves. Made sense; they were actual heroes, out saving the day, not stuck judging auditions all afternoon.

His eyes landed on a kid a few seats over, a skinny guy in a green-and-black suit with some gadget belt, fidgeting like crazy, twisting his hands and muttering under his breath. The boy looked about 16, pale and wide-eyed, nerves radiating off him. Clark leaned over a bit. "Hey, you alright? First time at something like this?"

The kid jumped, then eyed Clark warily. "Yeah, uh... just running the odds. There are 312 applicants here today, based on the badge numbers I've seen. Vought's only picking one or two spots max for the team this cycle. Factoring in power diversity, market appeal, and sponsor fits... my chances are like 0.32%. Give or take for variables like flight capability boosting scores—wait, you fly, right? I saw you land. That bumps you to maybe 18%."

Clark chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Whoa, that's some math. But hey, it could be you. Numbers don't mean everything."

The kid shook his head, still calculating on his fingers. "Statistically? Probably won't be. I've got tech powers but nothing flashy like super strength or blasting. They'll go for the crowd-pleasers."

"But it could be you," Clark insisted, giving him an encouraging grin. "Just do your best. That's all any of us can do out there."

The boy paused, then cracked a small smile. "Yeah... maybe. What's your name, anyway?"

"Superman," Clark said, extending a hand.

"Techwhiz," the kid replied, shaking it firmly. His grip was surprisingly strong for his build... maybe some enhancements under that suit.

They hit it off from there, chatting to pass the time. "So, why the Young Americans?" Clark asked, genuinely curious.

Techwhiz lit up a bit. "Man, it's the gateway, you know? Train with pros, get exposure, maybe level up to The Seven one day. And Silver Sentinel? Dude's a legend—his energy blade is next-level. Reverse-engineered alien stuff, they say. What about you?"

"Same reason," Clark said, geeking out right along with him. "Silver Sentinel's sword blasts? Insane. But I also love how the team's about teamwork, helping everyday folks. Like, remember that time they took down the drug den in north town? Coordinated it perfectly. "

They bounced back and forth, trading hero facts and fan theories. Techwhiz gushing about A-Train's speed feats, Clark countering with facts on Queen Maeve's shield, until the intercom crackled: "Contestant 89, Techwhiz, proceed to audition hall."

"That's me," Techwhiz said, standing up with a deep breath. "Wish me luck."

"You got this," Clark said, giving him a thumbs up. The kid nodded and headed through the door.

It dragged on a bit longer and Clark's nerves continued to get the better of him, but finally: "Contestant 112, Superman, proceed to audition hall."

Clark stood, shaking out his arms to ditch the last jitters. "Here goes," he muttered to himself, striding toward the door with his head high. Clark stepped through the door into the audition hall and walked to a big X that he felt was for him. He stood there on the big X, feeling the judges' eyes on him like spotlights. The woman manager, her badge said "Elena Torres, YA Ops" flipped through her tablet, while the guy next to her, "Marcus Hale, YA Talent Scout," leaned back with a neutral expression. The Vought exec, "Victor Lang, Senior OP manager," was scribbling notes already.

Elena started it off. "Okay, Superman. Let's dive in. Tell us about yourself, your powers, your background, the usual. And no civilian ID? That's not common, but we'll circle back."

Clark nodded, keeping it straightforward. "Sure. I'm from a small town in Kansas, raised on a farm. Learned early on about pitching in, helping neighbors, that kinda thing. Powers-wise... super strength, flight, invulnerability, heat vision, freeze breath, enhanced senses. The full set, I guess. Been honing them for years, making sure I can control everything without overdoing it."

The room went dead quiet for a split second. Elena's pen froze mid-air, Marcus's eyes widened just a hair, and Victor's jaw tightened like he'd bitten into a lemon. Clark caught the shift, their heartbeats picking up, a subtle excitement buzzing under their poker faces. They exchanged quick glances, but played it cool. Victor cleared his throat. "That's... comprehensive. A Rare combo to be sure. Alright, why a hero? What draws you to the Young Americans?"

Clark shifted his weight, his passion kicking in. "It's simple, really. The world's full of hurt... it has bad stuff happening every day. I want to save folks, pull them out of danger, make sure they get home safe to the people that love them. But it's more than that. I wanna show people hope, you know? Like, in the dark times, remind people that there's someone out there fighting for the good, reminding them they're not alone. That things can get better if we all try. The Young Americans seem perfect for that, team of kids like me, learning together, making a real difference together."

They let him finish, nodding along. Elena jotted more notes. Marcus leaned forward. "Solid pitch my friend. Hope's a good angle. Now, you willing to demo some of these abilities? We've got setups ready."

Clark grinned, nerves easing a bit. "Happy to oblige."

They pointed him to the weight station first—a massive barbell loaded with plates, the sign reading "1 Ton Challenge." Most auditioners probably strained at that, but Clark strolled over, gripped it one-handed like it was a dumbbell, and hoisted it overhead effortlessly. No grunt, no shake, just smooth as butter. He even did a couple casual reps before setting it down gently, not even denting the floor.

The judges murmured approvals, but Clark heard their pulses racing faster. Next up: flight. "Show us some aerial control," Victor said, gesturing to the open space.

Clark nodded, lifting off the ground with a whoosh, hovering steady before zipping around the room, tight loops, sudden stops, even a mid-air flip for flair. He touched down light as a feather, cape settling perfectly.

By now, the excitement was bubbling under their surfaces, Elena's fingers tapping rapidly on her phone as she sent message after message, Marcus shifting in his seat. "Impressive," she said. "Heat vision?"

They wheeled out metal plates on a stand, thick steel meant for lifting demos. Clark focused, eyes glowing red, and fired beams, slicing through the plates like they were paper, molten edges dripping. To show finesse, he glanced at Marcus's coffee mug on the table. "Mind if I warm that up?"

Marcus blinked. "Uh, sure?"

Clark dialed it way down, a thin red line hitting the mug just right. The coffee bubbled and steamed, hot but not spilling. "There... piping fresh."

That did it. The judges were barely holding it together. Victor stood abruptly. "Excuse me a moment. Need to... step out for a call." He bolted for the door, phone already in hand, muttering something about "HQ" under his breath. Clark caught snippets with his hearing— "goldmine... Homelander-level... get legal on standby"—but he didn't dwell as his attention was brought back by the others.

Elena recovered first. "While he's out... any prior experience? Hero work back home? Vigilante stuff?"

Clark shook his head, fibbing a tad. "Nah, nothing like that. Just training on the farm." Technically true... he wasn't from Kansas City, and that tornado event was a one-off.

Marcus nodded. "Got it. Fresh start, love that."

They huddled for a quick whisper, but Clark's ears picked it up clearly: Elena murmuring, "Kid's genuine as hell, that'll sell huge. No ego, farm boy charm? Marketing dream."

Marcus agreed: "Pair it with those powers? Slam dunk."

Elena turned back, smiling wide. "Superman, we're impressed. More than that, we'd be thrilled to offer you a spot on the Young Americans. Effective immediately."

Clark's jaw dropped. "Wait, really? But... what about everyone else? They haven't even auditioned yet. Feels kinda unfair, they're all waiting out there."

The judges exchanged looks, whispering again, Clark hearing "Stick to the script... criteria met, no need to drag it out."

Marcus cleared his throat. "We were scouting for specific qualities this round, whcih you nailed. You check every box. The others? They'll get feedback, maybe callbacks later. But you're it."

Clark frowned a bit, still bugged by the fairness thing, but it sorta made sense, auditions weren't always first-come, first-served. "I guess... if you're sure."

Elena leaned in, reassuring. "Absolutely. This is how it works sometimes, the right fit, right time. So, you in? Accept the position?"

Clark hesitated, mind flashing back to that childhood dream. This was it. He smiled, nodding. "Yeah. I accept."

They all broke into grins, standing to shake his hand. "Welcome aboard," Marcus said. "I'm Marcus Hale, talent scout for YA, I'll handle your onboarding logistics."

"Elena Torres, operations manager," she added. "Scheduling, patrols, all that jazz. We'll be your go-tos."

They asked, "You expected back home today? Family stuff?"

Clark shook his head. "Nah, it's the weekend, no rush till Monday."

"Good, good," Victor said, clapping his hands. "Plenty of time. Let's get rolling. Contracts first, standard NDA and terms. Then a full HQ tour, announcement prep for your joining, meet the team, assign you a personal manager for PR and branding. Oh, and fittings for official gear, media training basics, photo shoots..."

It hit Clark like a whirlwind, they ushered him out the door, chattering nonstop as they herded him down hallways deeper into the building. Contracts? Announcements? He thought it'd be more... heroic. "Weren't we gonna go on patrol or something?" he wondered silently. When would the actual hero work kick in? It was kinda disappointing, all this paperwork, but hey, worth it in the end. Had to start somewhere.

They swung by a sleek cafeteria first which they called the team lounge, Elena explained. "This is where you guys eat, chill between gigs. Full kitchen staff, games, pool table, video setups, books, couches for downtime. All to relax when you're not out patrolling or training."

Clark nodded taking it all in.

"Speaking of the team," Marcus piped up, spotting someone across the room. "There's one now...Starlight!"

'Oh shoot,' Clark thought, recognizing her instantly—that girl from the convention center, the one who'd helped during the tornado. She was standing with an older woman who looked a lot like her, probably family. 'At least she doesn't know my real name.'

"Starlight!" Victor called. "Come meet the new member of the Young Americans."

Starlight turned, her eyes landing on Clark and widening just a fraction, like maybe she recognized him too? The woman with her smiled politely as they walked over.

Clark put on his best friendly grin. "Hello, Starlight. I'm Superman. It's good to meet you," he said, offering his hand.

Behind him, the managers huddled. "Superman? Solid, but workshop it, maybe Superboy for the teen angle? Or something punchier."

Starlight stared at him intensely for a moment, like she was piecing something together, then took his hand and shook it firm. "I'm Starlight, as you know. Welcome to the team."

The woman stepped up. "Donna her mother. Pleasure."

"Nice to meet you too, ma'am," Clark said, shaking her hand gently.

Donna glanced at Starlight. "Why don't you show Superman around the HQ? It'll be nicer than having a bunch of staff do it and give you a chance to get to know your new teammate."

"That sounds like a marvelous idea," Elena jumped in, the group nodding along.

Starlight looked a little caught off guard, blinking quick, but she nodded. "Uh, sure."

The managers peeled off with waves and "Catch you later for contracts!" leaving Clark and Starlight standing there alone.

Awkward silence stretched for a second, the cafeteria hum fading into the background.

"So—" Clark started.

"I—" she said at the same time.

They both stopped.

"Sorry—"

"Sorry—"

"You go—"

"You go—"

"No, you go—"

"No, you go—"

They both cracked up laughing, the tension breaking like a popped balloon. Clark chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Want to show me around?"

Starlight nodded, a real smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah. Follow me."

_____________________________________