Look Up Part 1 (10->23k)

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."