I Was Overthinking It

The bar was a blur of neon lights and pulsing music.

After fleeing home, Clark shuffled in like a walking corpse, unable to accept reality, wanting nothing more than to drown it all in drink and forget everything.

He'd heard that getting drunk could make you stop thinking.

"You're only eighteen. State law says I can't sell you hard liquor."

The bartender glanced at Clark's ID, then looked up. "Want a beer?"

"Anything with alcohol will do."

Pocketing his ID, a hollowed-out Clark urged the bartender to hurry up.

On the dance floor, men and women swayed with abandon; in the booths, people played drinking games with wild excitement.

All the noise and liveliness had nothing to do with him. Clark only felt lost and alone, like a lone wolf separated from its pack.

An indescribable ache filled his chest.

"Was it all a lie?"

He replayed memories of life with his parents and brother, scene by scene.

He had never belonged to that family. Hell, he didn't even belong to the planet he'd grown up on.

As a child, Clark had wondered why others couldn't lift a truck, why they got hurt falling from a few stories, why his parents and brother were different from him. Now he had the answer.

Because he shared no blood with his father or brother.

"I'm just an alien my parents found and took in."

By the dim bar counter, Clark's eyes reddened as he stared blankly at the name on his ID: Clark Kent.

He wasn't really a Kent. Even his name shouldn't be in this form—it should be something clunky and strange to human ears.

Among the billions on Earth, not one was his kind. Nowhere was his home.

"Why...?"

Emotions spiraling out of control, Clark clenched his fist in bitter rage. Was this God's joke on him?

Why wasn't he human? Why couldn't he be blood-related to his parents and brother?

He wished everything his father had told him today was a lie. That tomorrow morning, he'd still taste his mother's carefully made apple pie, still bicker with his brother on the school bus, still come home to help his father with farm chores—a plain, fulfilling life.

"Why did my life have to be shattered all of a sudden?"

How could he go back to that home now, after this bombshell, and accept his parents' love without guilt?

Lost and furious, Clark felt a sudden urge to punch something, to vent.

Just then—

"Clark!"

A hand slapped his shoulder.

"It really is you."

Clark turned to see Whitney and a few teammates holding beers, smirking with ill intent, circling him like hounds spotting a weak rabbit.

"Clark, drowning your sorrows alone?"

Whitney slung an arm around Clark's neck, feigning closeness, but his arm tightened with force.

"Whitney, don't bother me right now."

To his surprise, Clark—whose neck should have been aching—stood unmoving, his body like forged steel. He shoved Whitney's hand away.

Though he'd just been looking for something to break and someone to provoke, the future Superman, raised with a good heart by Jonathan and Martha for over a decade, held back from fighting back.

"Got good news for you, Clark."

Stumbling back, Whitney sloshed beer onto the floor. Humiliated in front of everyone, his anger flared.

"I've decided—you're this year's Scarecrow!"

He signaled the football players to put down their beers and move in to drag Clark away.

"I said, don't mess with me!"

The bar's rock music pounded in his ears. Clark shot up, grabbing Whitney by the collar, fury in his eyes, barely restraining himself from striking.

But then, Whitney's collar tore open, revealing a familiar green crystal necklace.

The radiation of Kryptonite enveloped him.

"Ah..."

Clark's superhuman strength drained rapidly. His face twisted in pain and agony. The hand near the Kryptonite bulged with abnormal green veins, as if poisoned.

In the shifting light, Whitney didn't notice. He punched the weakened Clark to the ground, straightening his clothes with contempt.

"So what if I mess with you, Clark?"

He crouched, grabbing Clark by the collar, his low voice dripping with jealousy and malice.

"I've seen how you look at my girl. I know exactly what's on your mind."

"Who do you think she's your girlfriend?"

With the high school football championship looming, Lana handed her boyfriend the meteorite crystal necklace she'd worn since childhood, hoping to convey her feelings and bless him to cut through the competition, win the title, and get scouted.

It only made Clark taste Kryptonite's bite again.

"You want her necklace?"

Noticing Clark's discomfort as he stared at the necklace around his neck, Whitney sneered, assuming it was jealousy. He hung the necklace on Clark and mocked him harshly.

"Then take it. This is as close as you'll ever get to Lana."

"Take him away."

He stood and waved over a few football players, who hoisted the now more agonized Clark up and hauled him out the back door.

With too many eyes around, Whitney planned to drag Clark to a secluded cornfield to teach him a proper lesson.

"I'll make you learn to drop your delusions!"

Suddenly, a voice rang out, flat as if drained of emotion.

"Where are you taking Clark, Whitney?"

"David?"

Spotting a figure with hands shoved in the pockets of a brown jacket strolling over, Whitney was surprised, then sneered.

"Since you're offering yourself up, I'll take you along too."

Let Clark watch how his own foolish notions got his brother dragged into it.

David's face stayed blank, as if he hadn't heard the threat.

"David, run."

Clark, hoisted up and too weak to even stand steady, forced out the words through his pain. "You can't beat them."

Whitney and his four guys were all burly varsity football players. He didn't want to see his brother get hurt.

From Clark: Urgency +18, Regret +13...

"I thought you might not handle today's events, fall into despair, take another path, and cause some trouble for the family."

Ignoring Whitney and his crew, David looked at Clark, raised an eyebrow, and spoke slowly.

"Turns out I was overthinking it, Clark."

Even facing a few high schoolers with Kryptonite, he still ended up getting owned.

"Get him."

Annoyed by his dismissive attitude, Whitney couldn't hold back his anger.

"Show him what you've got."

Two tall, muscular football players lunged in with vicious grins, swinging fists from both sides.

The commotion near the bar finally drew some attention. A few people looked over, clapping and hooting, eager for a show.

"Yeah, fight!"

In a place like this bar, brawls were common.

David stood still, swaying to dodge the first punch thrown at him, then snapped a counterstrike like lightning.

Thud!

That football player's eyes bulged, his face red as a boiled lobster. He clutched his stomach, dropped to his knees in pain, and spat out a mouthful of saliva.

The other charged with a fist raised. David spun cleanly and drove his elbow back. The guy's head snapped like he'd been hit with a baseball bat, and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

"Whoa!"

In under two seconds, two opponents taken down. A few people in the bar blinked in surprise, then clapped and cheered.

"Nice!"

Was this kid that good? A pro fighter?

From Clark: Shock +8, Dismay +9...

David ignored the emotion alerts he usually tuned out. Whitney stood frozen, staring in disbelief at his two downed teammates.

"You..."

Clark was even more stunned. He'd never known his brother had this side.

"All together."

Whitney and the two players who'd dropped Clark charged at David.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

David's footwork fluttered like a butterfly's dance. They didn't even touch his jacket. His fists stung like bee stings, and with three casual, clean punches, he laid them flat.

All three ended up on the ground, bruised and battered.

"No way."

Whitney clutched his aching chest, ribs feeling like they were broken, yet he gritted his teeth, struggled up, and charged at David again.

Just a guy who never dared join anything at school!

"Stay down, Whitney."

As soon as he got up, David lifted his foot like an adult bullying a kid and kicked him over, stepping past him without a second glance as he walked toward Clark.

"If I push too hard, my skin tone shows.

But for these guys, I don't need more than normal strength."

The bar crowd watching him approach backed off, not wanting trouble, clearing a path.

Could a retired Navy SEAL really be this good?

"Where'd you learn to fight? Da... David."

A Kryptonian exposed to Kryptonite for too long could even be in mortal danger. Clark's neck veins bulged unnaturally, his face pale, as he endured the pain and asked in shock.

He never knew his younger brother had such impressive combat skills.

"On TV."

David replied flatly, yanking the necklace off his neck.

"On... on TV?"

Clark hadn't expected that answer. Seeing his brother was fine, he finally stopped forcing himself, his eyes rolling back as he passed out.

David pocketed the necklace, casually hoisted the tall Clark onto his shoulder, and turned to leave the bar. The crowd parted way.

Even though the fight had hurt business, the bar owner didn't dare ask David to stay.

After walking a bit.

Under the cold moonlight, they reached an empty street.

Clark on David's shoulder stirred groggily, realized it was the way home, and struggled.

"Put me down, David. I'm not going back!"

Something came up at home, owe a thousand words, will make it up later.