Later that day, Clark wearily trudged down the road to the farm. He was tired, sweaty, and the wound in his side bite into him every time he breathed. He, Pete, and Chloe had spent the rest of the day looking all over town for Bruce, without a bit of success. They had talked to everyone he might have had contact with, Lana, Lex, even had given Gail a call at the hospital to see if Bruce had returned, but nothing. He simply couldn’t be found. As the sun started to set, Clark got more and more worried. Something about Bruce told him that if he were going to make his move, he’d do it at night. And with the National Guard arriving soon… Clark shuddered that thought away. He’d find Bruce, he’d swore to Gail that he would.
Jonathon was bent underneath the old tractor, still making repairs to it from the night before. Clark’s foot kicked a stone, sending it rolling past his father and he jumped unexpectedly. Jonathon leapt up, holding a wrench like a club, staring around until he saw his son. “Geez, Clark,” he said, lowering the wrench. “Almost gave me a heart attack.” He wiped his brow and looked at his son. “How’d things go?”
“Not that well,” Clark grumbled, shaking his head. He looked out over the fields, staring into the woods. “How are you and Mom doing?”
Jonathon bent down and started packing his tools away. “To tell you the truth,” he said quietly, “I don’t know if I ever been this scared in my life. Every time I look up, I expect to see that Richie boy just step out of the woods coming towards us. Your mother’s got it worse though.” He straightened and looked at Clark gravely. “She watched some of those broadcasts of the circus, and she’s worried sick about you. She’s been trying to keep busy, cooking all entire day. We’re in for a heck of a meal tonight,” he tried to smile. Clark gave him a half-hearted grin back and looked up at the house. “Clark,” his dad said, “go talk to her. She’s afraid that you’re going to go off without thinking and just get yourself killed. She wants you to just leave this to the police.”
“What do you think?” Clark asked. His father frowned and looked away, shaking his head.
“I almost wish you hadn’t asked that,” he admitted softly. “Clark, you’re not like other people, that’s not saying anything against you,” he assured his son. “But it’s not saying anything for you either. Every one’s got some kind of talent, a gift that only they have. Those gifts don’t define us; it’s what we choose to do with them that matters. I don’t want you to make a decision that could get you killed, but I can’t make that decision for you. I’m not you; I don’t have your gifts. I can’t tell you what to do with them.”
“So what are you saying?” Clark asked him. Jonathon looked at his son, his face tired and sad.
“Do what you think is the right thing to do,” his father told him quietly. “No one would think bad of you if you sat this one out. But it would have to be your choice; we can’t help you make it. They’re your gifts Clark; it’s up to you to decide when, not just how, to use them.” Clark nodded slowly, and Jonathon gave him a quick pat on the back. “Well, in the meantime, I guess we better face this dinner your mother’s got prepared for us. What do you think?”
“Uh huh,” Clark mumbled and walked with him to the house. Halfway there, the door flew open and his mother ran down to greet him. Hugging him tightly, she looked him up and down quickly.
“Where have you been all day?” she demanded in a rush, and then moved on without waiting for a response. “You’re a mess, look at you! Are you feeling any better, any more pain?” Fending her off, Clark tried to put on a good face for her.
“I’m fine,” he said quickly, “really. I spent the day with Chloe and Pete. We visited someone at the hospital and then went looking for Bruce.”
“Wasn’t he at the hospital?” Jonathon asked, puzzled.
“He was…” Clark admitted, “It’s a long story.”
“Come inside then,” Martha said quickly, holding his arm tightly as she practically yanked him up the stairs with her. “No use you standing outside and wasting away while you tell it. Come inside, I cooked you a little something.”
A little something was a bit of an understatement. The kitchen counter was practically covered with all manner of meals and dishes. There was a pot of stew simmering away on the stove and what looked like a chocolate cake sitting in the oven. “Cooking for twelve tonight, Mom?” Clark asked, staring into the kitchen. His mother sniffed and folded her arms.
“Sorry, I can’t help it,” she said. “When I get nervous, I cook, always have. At least I’m better at it now, you should have seen the monstrosity I cooked up the first time I got the wedding jitters after your father proposed to me.”
“Look nothing,” Jonathon said from the doorway, “you should have tasted it.” Martha gave him a wry look and rubbed her hands on her pants, dusting the flour off of them.
“Thanks, Mom,” Clark said, smiling at her. “I am a little hungry. Maybe not that hungry, but a little,” he told her, angling his head towards the kitchen.
“Glad to know someone appreciates it. Well, first things first,” she said to Clark. “You better wash up first, before you eat. You look kind of worn out.”
Clark nodded and walked up the stairs, pulling his shirt off as he went. He tossed it into his room and then went into the bathroom. After washing his face under the cold water, he straightened and raised his arm, poking at the bandage experimentally. There was only a tiny bloodstain on it, but Clark carefully pried back the tape and removed the gauze. The wound had closed up, but was still a dark red line. At least his powers would help him heal, he thought thankfully. Clark dug into the medicine cabinet and applied a fresh pad of gauze and some new tape to it. Satisfied, he walked into his room, pulling a new shirt out from his clothes drawer.
Pulling it on, he suddenly noticed something out of the corner of his eye and turned around quickly. Leaning nonchalantly in his doorway, was Bruce Wayne, still dressed in the same clothes that Chloe had given him.
He crunched into an apple as he watched Clark, and nodded at him. “I was wondering when you were going to get home,” he said around a mouthful. Clark stared at him in astonishment, unable to say anything. Bruce took another bite of his apple and then waved it at him. “Met your folks. Or at least, I watched them. They seem like nice people.”
“What are you doing here?” Clark finally managed to get out.
Bruce shrugged, took a last bite of his apple and tossed it in the trash. “I thought it would be a good idea to check out your home. See if you were telling the truth. Then to see how much you had found out about Richie and me. I was also curious to see your spaceship, but that was a disappointment. Lot smaller than I expected; looked more like an escape pod than anything.”
“You found it?” Clark asked, stunned. Bruce snorted and laughed.
“Wasn’t that hard to find, you had it hid in the cellar. Didn’t even bother to cover it up; sloppy.”
“Where did you-“ Clark started to say, when he stopped himself. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples in aggravation. Bruce waited, looking a little amused. “Why did you leave at the hospital? Gail was worried sick about you, and you didn’t even to check up on her.”
Bruce grunted and walked over to Clark’s window. He gazed outside, looking up at the skyline. “There were more important things to do. I went back to the circus, but I couldn’t find Richie. He’s gone, hiding in the woods probably. Police have that whole area cordoned off now. Waiting for the National Guard to clean this mess up for them.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“You heard about them?” Clark asked him.
“Kind of hard not to; the entire town’s talking about it. I figure I’ve got about 36 hours, at the most, to make my move.”
“What move? What are you talking about?”
Bruce turned around and looked at him like he was joking. “To bring Richie in, of course.”
Clark backed up, shaking his head. “No, wait a minute. What about the National Guard, can’t they handle this?”
“I hit Richie with a car last night,” Bruce said slowly. “It didn’t do much more than put a few cracks in his stomach. If they go after him, they’re going to have to use tanks. But before that, they’ll probably just try and shoot him, and that won’t have much effect. He’ll carve a few of them up, and then they’ll use tanks, or bombs. I don’t have the slightest idea how much firepower it would take, but let’s be generous and say a lot. Since he’ll probably still be in the woods, I’m guessing there’ll be fires, which will probably spread across the county. Add to that the farms and homes, just like this one, that are pressed right up against the forest and you can see where I’m going.”
Clark tried to comprehend it all, and shook his head again. “I like my plan better,” Bruce said simply.
“And you seriously think you can bring him in?” Clark asked him, starting to get angry. “After what he did to you last night, you’re talking about it like it’s a done deal. You don’t even know where he is.”
“I’ll find him-“ Bruce started to say, but Clark yelled right over him.
“No, you’re not going anywhere,” he told Bruce with force. Then he paused, took a deep breath and said, “Not without me.” He expected Bruce to get angry, shout at him, but he did not. Instead, his mouth twitched upwards in a half-smile and he chuckled.
“I forgot,” he laughed quietly. “You were such a big help last night.” Clark’s fists clenched, and if he could have melted Bruce away with his eyes, he would’ve done so on the spot.
“Clark, what’s the matter?” his mother called, her voice getting louder as she came up the stairs. “We thought you heard you talking up here,” she said as she peaked into his room. She saw Bruce and she took a step back. “Oh, what? Who’s this?”
“Mom,” Clark said, forcing his voice into a civil tone, “this is Bruce Wayne. Bruce, my mother.” He nodded to her, brusquely.
“Hello,” she said back, startled. “I didn’t hear you come in. When did you get here?” she tried to ask innocently.
“A few hours ago,” Bruce shrugged. Her voice caught in her throat as she watched him, her eyes wide. “You have a nice home. Some interesting things in it.”
“Bruce was going to stay for dinner,” Clark told her loudly. Both his mother and Bruce whipped their heads around to stare at him. Clark matched Bruce’s look with one of his own. “Why don’t you go tell Dad we’ve got company?” Clark suggested to his mother.
“Right,” she said slowly, looking at the two of them. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” She backed up quickly and left the room. Clark and Bruce didn’t break eye contact as she left. They stood perfectly still, the challenge in the air. Bruce broke the silence first.
“I have work to do,” he said. “I didn’t come here for dinner.”
“Then what did you come here for?” Clark demanded. “You need my help, and I think you know it.” Bruce’s eyes turned into lasers as he stared at Clark. “I think you want my help,” Clark continued, “but you just don’t know how to ask for it.”
“I’m leaving,” Bruce said shortly, trying to walk past him. Clark put his arm out, shattering through the wood frame on his doorway. Bruce looked down at the arm blocking his path and then slowly he brought his up to Clark’s. “Don’t try me,” he said, spitting each word out like it was poison.
“We have to talk,” Clark told him again. “You’re staying for dinner.” Bruce glowered back at him and then finally he backed off.
Dinner was a disaster, for everyone. Bruce sat in his seat like he was strapped down into it, his face a thundercloud. He ate slowly, never taking his eyes off Clark. For his part, Clark ignored him, eating quietly and trying to make light conversation with his parents. Jonathon and Martha sat nervously in their seats, glancing at Bruce occasionally like he was some kind of wild dog that might snap at any moment. You could have cut the tension in the air with a knife.
Finally, in desperation, Jonathon asked, “So why are you in the circus, Bruce?”
“Being an escape artist is going to help me out someday,” he said quietly, never taking his eyes off Clark.
“Oh, why’s that? What are you going to do?”
“Assault criminals.” There was a pause that was almost pregnant as Jonathon’s mouth twitched. “Don’t know how I’m going to do it yet,” Bruce admitted to him. Clark looked over at him, and then took a bit out his dinner, chewing it slowly. “What about you, Clark?” Bruce asked him, smiling. “What are you going to do with the rest of your life?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t have it all figured out like you do.”
“Pity, you should. You should always decide what you’re going to do, and then do it. No hesitation, no looking back.”
“Some of us aren’t like that,” Clark told him. “I’m just trying to enjoy my life, right now.”
“Enjoy… your life?” Bruce asked him, breaking into a grin. He started to laugh, his shoulders shaking fiercely. He put down his fork and rubbed at his eyes, wiping away tears.
“What so funny?” Clark asked him, irritated. Bruce shook his head, still laughing, and got up from his seat.
“In a second,” he said quietly. “Thank you for the meal, Mrs. Kent. It’s been a while since I’ve had food that good.”
“Thank you,” she said, looking a little confused, but still pleased. “And please, just call me Martha.”
“Martha,” Bruce said quietly. “That’s a very nice name. It was my mother’s.”
“Oh,” she said quietly. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever read anything about her.”
“Probably not,” he told her. “She was murdered when I was eight. Maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime.” He pushed in his chair as Martha stared at him and walked away from the table. Clark glanced at his mother, and then got up quickly as well. He followed Bruce outside to find him standing on their porch, looking out into the stars.
“You’re parents are very nice people,” Bruce said quietly. “They must be very special to you.”
“Yes they are,” Clark said. He leaned against one of the posts and watched him. Bruce stood at the railing and looked upwards, his face quiet and thoughtful.
“My parents were very special to me too,” he admitted to Clark. “But then something happened to them. And they were gone.”
“Pete found out about them,” Clark told him. “About how they were shot. I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what that would be like.”
“I lost everything that night,” Bruce said, his voice monotone. “I was eight, my parents were my entire world. And then a man walked out of an alley with a gun. He wanted money, but my father refused, tried to talk him out of it. Didn’t work. He fired two shots into my father’s chest, .45 caliber rounds. You wouldn’t believe how much damage that does to a human body. My mother screamed and lurched forwards, and somehow her pearl necklace caught on the man’s gun. He tried to pull away, but his gun was caught. He panicked and put the barrel to the base of her chin. Then he pulled the trigger.” Bruce stopped and shook his head ever so slightly. He passed a hand over his face, covering his eyes.
“Seeing something like that puts all your nightmares to shame. My parents were dead when they hit the concrete, I thought I was next, but instead, he ran. And I was alone.”
Clark was silent at first, watching the scene unfold in his mind. He imagined his parents gunned down like that, dying at his feet. “Is that why you do it?” he asked. “Is that why you go out, hunt down criminals? Revenge?”
Bruce sighed and didn’t say anything for a moment. Finally, he turned to Clark and said, “No, not revenge. It’s something else, something that I learned that night, and that world’s confirmed for me every day since.”
“What is it?”
“Clark, the world is hard, cold, dark place,” Bruce told him quietly. “People pretend it’s nice, that life is good and full of brightness. And yes, sometimes it is. But for as much order and happiness, there is more chaos. Individuals can be bright and compassionate, but as a group we could hardly give a damn. People kill each other for pointless, stupid reasons every day. Open up your paper; watch the news, it’s all the same. John Q. Public has a wife and 2.5 children. He has a job he loves; he pays his taxes on time, never speeds. Then one day he comes home to find his children chopped to bits and his wife raped, mutilated, and lying in the bathtub. Why? There is no reason. We say it can’t happen to us, and walk around with blinders until it does. We don’t see the problem because it’s just too big and horrifying. Because it’s us. We are the problem; the world is. I saw it all that night, like someone had pulled back the curtain and shown me just how everything worked. I looked down at my parents and I learned that the world doesn’t make sense unless you force it to.”
“If we are the problem, Clark, we are also the solution. We can make things better; punish people that the police can’t reach. Impose our own order on a society that will never have one. We can make things better.”
“How?” Clark asked him. “By just punishing people, like you do? There are courts and laws for that.”
“Jail doesn’t scare criminals, Clark,” Bruce replied. “If it did, no one would need to go back. And I respect the law; it’s done all it can to keep things in line. All I want to do is help it out a bit. I’m not a killer either, and I never want to be one. We can’t save the world if we’re willing to kill.”
“Glad to hear it. But what about taking the law into your own hands, that makes you a criminal too, doesn’t it?” he pointed out to him.
“Of course it does,” Bruce agreed. “We have to be criminals, there is no other way.”
Clark thought for a while, absorbing this in as he looked out over the stars. Bruce waited patiently, watching the sky as well. The heavens were filled with twinkling light, and for a moment, it seemed that anything could be possible. Each star glimmered like a wish, waiting to be granted. Then Clark slowly backed away, shaking his head. “No, I think you’re wrong,” he said slowly. Bruce didn’t say anything, just waited for him to continue.
“I think that people are good and decent,” Clark explained. “I know that there’s evil in the world, but I think, I know that we can overcome it. You’re right that sometimes things happen without a reason, but we can weather them, and become stronger for it. If the world does need people like us, it’s not to impose our own will on them, but to let them go forwards on their own. You asked me what I wanted to do when I grow up; well I think I know now. The first good thing I ever did with my powers was save a life; a life everyone else had given up on. But I didn’t, and I have a good friend because of it now. Because of me, he’s got a second chance now, and that the best thing you can ever give someone. I think that’s what we’ve been put here for, to catch people when they fall.” Clark finished, and looked for a response from Bruce, but none was forthcoming. He turned away and walked to the end of the porch and glanced upwards. Thick clouds were rolling in from the east, slowly blotting out the stars with blackness.
“Do you really believe that?” Bruce asked him quietly.
“Yes, I do,” Clark replied. Bruce sighed and turned to him. He seemed disappointed it, but his eyes looked off into the distance, as if seeing something far off.
“We’re going to have a disagreement someday, aren’t we?” he asked. Clark stared at him, unable to find the words. “What happens then?”
“I don’t know,” he said finally. Bruce nodded absently and looked away. “Do you want to go look for him now?” Clark asked him. Bruce nodded, his face grim, but that same half-smile played around his mouth.
“We need to gather a few things here first, but yeah, I’m ready,” he said. “How about you?”
Clark nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be. So where do we start looking?”