Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sunlight glinted off the side of the pod, catching in the young girl’s eye. It should have caused her to squint, that much she knew, but, instead, the girl felt more akin to a flower, opening upon the first rays of sunshine over the horizon. She had heard what the general’s squad had said: the yellow sun makes us stronger . Yet, she had not quite believed it until she was out of the large ship and on the ground. 

The girl closed her eyes and tipped her head back, basking in the sudden and complete warmth. She felt the same; she felt so utterly changed it made her feel light, so light, lighter than a feather. 

Her reverie was broken as a rough hand pushed at her back. She stumbled forward, onto her knees, though she found that the ground did not hurt her, did not scrape at the exposed skin of her legs. The strength behind the shove had hurt her more, pins and needles rising along the place where the hand had touched her on her right shoulder blade. 

“Get up, child.” The rough, raspy voice of the general made the girl tense up, the warmth suddenly gone from her body as a crawling fear spread from her spine and into the tips of her fingers. She wanted to curl up into herself. She wanted to spit and weep and claw. The girl found herself nearly succumbing to the former; her nose brushed against the soft soil of the ground, her arm wrapped around her stomach. “You will rise and do as you were instructed, Kara Zor-El.”

Kara breathed out a cold huff of breath. Slowly, she rose; her head lifted, her shoulders pushed back, her feet pushed herself up. One of the general's men gave her a look close to pity. What good it did. He would not cross the general’s orders. Even if he did not agree with hurting a child, he was a fanatic who had helped cause the destruction of their homeworld. He would not help Kara, would not go against his commander, his master. That Kara knew.

She stood up, the sun above her head, her knees shaking, her hands held in front of her chest. Her teeth gritted together so hard she heard her jaw click inside of her ears.

“Let us find the infant,” General Zod announced.

It was the sort of early autumn afternoon that inspired the young soul to do nothing but lay about. It was not cold and not warm; it was a neutral sort of day that had some people in jackets and others in short sleeves. Clark found that he couldn’t bring himself to step inside. Instead, he was in the loft, sunbathing in the soft sun, eyes closed, a book Chloe had gifted to him on his knee. He had thought she was being sort of blithe with the recommendation—seriously, who gives a guy raised on a farm with cows a novel about the meat industry?—but Clark was well into the book and found himself enjoying it. 

The book was exactly the sort of thing Chloe would love. And, while he might not be as enthusiastic about journalism as Chloe, that didn’t mean he didn’t see the merit of digging deeper into the truth of things. He was just glad he had already reported to Chloe that his family definitely wasn’t using any growth hormones on their cattle before she got it into her head to look through their records or anything for whatever reason. 

Clark tipped his head back, the sunlight lingering on the skin of his throat. He wished he could open his mouth and swallow the sunshine down; it was the sort of odd sensation he had since childhood, this need for the comforting warmth of the sun. He wondered if this was normal person thoughts or some alien instinct of his. His mom used to call him her precious little cat when he was a kid, back when she would step into a room and find him sprawled in a patch of sunlight. They had a cat, once, a barn cat that used to follow Clark around and lay with him. His parents used to call it the very creative name of Cat, but Clark had called him Chippy on account of the notch in his ear from some barnyard fight that happened before Clark had been adopted. 

There was a soft purr of a luxury car approaching the barn, along with the muted mumblings of the car's owner as he drove over a pothole. It was funny: Lex Luthor, eloquent as he was, swore worse than anyone Clark had ever met, but only when the man thought he was alone with his words. The engine cut off and Clark listened as his friend’s even footsteps made their way towards the barn, up the uneven yet sturdy stairs that led to the loft. 

“I’m not interrupting your cat nap, am I?” Lex’s smooth voice called out from the top stair. 

Clark opened a single eye and smiled widely. “Not at all. What’s up?” He stretched out his arms and watched as Lex made his way over to him. 

His friend picked up the book on Clark’s knee with mild interest, turning the book over and opening it to read the summary on the dust jacket. “Let me guess: a Chloe Sullivan book club read?” He flipped through the pages, his nose scrunching up just a bit when he noticed the pages Clark had previously dog-eared. Lex Luthor was the sort of person who fretted about such things. He would rather put a random object between pages than ‘sully’ the book by folding it. Lex’s words, of course. 

“It was either this or Atonement.” Clark stood up and snatched the book back with a shrug. “I actually like it. It has a—oh, I don’t know, a bit of journalistic intrigue? I’ve, uh, I’ve sort of been getting more into the spirit of being a journalist in the past few months, so Chloe’s been giving me these books she feels will help deepen my vocabulary and interest into learning truths. Or something. You should ask her, she has a whole monologue prepared that she could recite for you.”

Lex laughed and gave a short shake of his head as he answered wryly, “As interesting as that may be, I think I'll pass on the explanation from Miss Sullivan. If you don’t mind.” They shared a look then; between them passed the pure understanding on how much Chloe could be. 

They stood there for a second, the silence half a beat too long, too still. 

Clark cleared his throat and set the book onto a shelf. “So, uh, what brings you here? I doubt you came by to talk literary fiction.”

There was another beat of silence as Lex opened his mouth. “Well, I was thinking, it’s been too long since you and I have hung out. I thought we could stop by the Talon, have a chat, before heading out to Metropolis to catch a concert. There’s a rock festival that has your name written all over it. What do you say? And—before you disagree on account of your parents—I spoke with your mother about it yesterday and she was very receptive about the idea.”

Clark raised his eyebrows and opened his eyes wide in surprise. “Really? That doesn’t sound like my mom.”

Lex tipped back on his heels and smiled a wicked sort of smile that made Clark feel giddy and young. “Well, I may have told her it was a classic film festival, but the intention is the same, don’t you think?”

It was easy, simple banter, the sort that they hadn’t quite had in weeks. Clark clung onto it as hard as he could; he wanted to fall into it, but he had to pause, had to know. “I want to go, I do. But—what is this? We haven’t exactly spoken this much in—weeks.”

There had been a tipping point between them, a well of anger that had gone too deep the moment Clark had accused Lex of shooting his own father and framing Clark’s father for the crime. Or maybe it was from before that, when Lex’s father and Clark’s mother had been held hostage together. Everything felt too much like a blur, a clumped up mash of events that ended with them seething at each other, unable to see eye to eye. Every conversation between them since had been short, distracted, off. As though they were two old acquaintances and not two self-proclaimed brothers. 

Lex set his hand onto Clark’s shoulder, giving him a light squeeze as he ducked his head to meet Clark’s eyes. “Hey, I know things between us have been heavy, to say the least, but nothing has changed. You’re still my best friend. My brother. You are, Clark. I want to make amends, build our trust back.”

“I want that too,” Clark mumbled with a tight smile. 

“It’s settled then.” Lex squeezed his neck slightly, a gesture that reminded Clark starkly of his father. Under Lex’s touch, Clark was suddenly a boy, small and young and awkward-footed. “Grab your coat, let’s get going.”

The Talon was moderately busy when they arrived. They took a seat on a couch that allowed them to see the entire room, nursing a hot chocolate and an extremely caffeinated coffee drink that made the hairs on the back of Clark’s neck somehow rise up in a rush of adrenaline whenever Lex raised it up to his lips. Clark was certain the smell alone was making his heart rate pick up. 

Lana was leaning against the counter, the apron accentuating her waist nicely. Clark kept peeking over the rim of his glass at her. She was in a conversation with a girl from school, her body turned towards her, Lana’s voice carrying over the music every now and then. Clark forced himself to glance away. 

“You have no shame, my young friend. None whatsoever.” Lex muttered as he set his glass onto the table in front of them with a wide closed-mouth smile. 

Clark felt his shoulders rise near his earlobes at being caught staring. It shouldn’t embarrass him, all he was doing was looking at her because she was pretty and sweet and she had the sort of wide smile that lit up a room and made his heart skip a beat every time he saw it, which was normal. Looking was—normal. Nothing more to it. “I’m just—things have been going so well, but. I don’t know.” Clark crossed his arms and sunk deeper into the couch as he fought the urge to disappear into it. “Anyways, I’m only looking at her face.”

Lex hummed with a grin. “Yes, you were, which makes you all the more shameless. You’re so genuine and lovestruck it makes a man who has long ago been hardened to love want to weep for your youthful infatuation.” He crossed his ankles and tipped his head to the side to better meet Clark’s eyes. Talking to Lex Luthor was like making conversation with the world’s most interesting thesaurus. 

Resisting the humiliating urge to cover his face with his hands, Clark opted on instead scrunching his face up at his friend. “So, I’m assuming that makes you love hardened? Speaking of love—how’s everything with Helen?” He straightened up and grabbed hold of his hot chocolate. It had cooled down a bit, lukewarm over hot, and Clark glanced at Lex for a moment to gather whether or not he could use a quick bout of heat vision without him noticing. 

Lex opened his mouth, only to startle when the door of the Talon was shoved open with a hard bang. They turned to watch as a group of people rushed inside, Pete and Chloe among them. The newcomers were yelling, urgent words that pressed against their ears as everybody stood still, unsure what would cause such a reaction. 

Something bad is happening.

Oh my God. Jesus save us.

Get the tables, barricade, c’mon!

Hide, let’s hide, hide—

“It’s not tornado season.” Clark found himself stupidly muttering aloud as he tried to understand what was going on. Then, in an instant, everything came into clarity. There was trouble. Bad enough trouble that people were freaked out for their safety. Clark lunged off of the couch and rushed over to Chloe. He grabbed her by the shoulders and met her wide eyes.

Her chest rose and fell with quick, fearful breaths. Her blue eyes were shining with tears that fell when she registered Clark. She let out a small shout of his name and pressed her face against his chest. Unable to do anything else, Clark pressed his hand to the back of her neck and held her close. 

“Chloe, what’s going on? Pete! What’s happening?” Clark yelled out when he made eye contact with his friend, who was busy strong-arming a table against the glass. 

Pete shook his head, his eyes wild, manic, scared. “There’s—it’s crazy out there, man. There’s these—these men. Coming out, grabbing people. I don’t—I don’t know. I don’t know. Come on, man, help me out here. Use those otherworldly arms and help out.” It was enough to make Clark squint, using his x-ray vision to try and understand what was happening. He could see bodies, crouched and hiding. There was a single figure he could make out, walking with purpose, a gun of some sort in their arms. No. 

Clark glanced down at Chloe before turning and meeting Lana’s eyes from across the room. Her face was pale with worry, her dark eyes wide. He swallowed and pushed Chloe lightly back and ducked his head down. “Go with Lana, okay? I’m going to help Pete.” He led her to Lana, who automatically wrapped her arms around Chloe with a soft shushing sound. With a final look to them, Clark rushed over to help the effort. He could hear Lex yelling into his cellphone. He didn’t need to strain to hear shouts coming from the streets. He needed to finish this, finish and find his parents and figure out what was happening and—

Lex stopped yelling. 

Clark paused and glanced back at Lex, who stood stock-still, his eyes wide as he stared at his cellphone. “Service is gone. I—can’t get through to anyone anymore.”

Somebody burst into loud sobs.

Chapter Text

Kara Zor-El lingered a handful of steps behind the general, her attention on her bare feet. Everything had gone by so fast, all those weeks ago, so fast, that she had not been able to put on any shoes before she had been curled up within a pod. Now, she was stuck like so, her bare feet on the gravel. She could feel it, only slightly. She dug her toes into the gravel; she blinked when it did not scratch her. 

“It is astonishing, is it not?” General Zod intoned in a voice that seemed nearly kind. He had once been a friend to the House of El, had once given Kara a gift for her birth celebration. It had been a treasure to Kara—a music box with the dancing figures of Flamebird and Nightwing. She would wound up the music and watch them circle around each other late into the night when her thoughts were too present. “The power this yellow sun grants us. Once we were nothing but men, yet now we are more. We are gods, Kara Zor-El. Us and your young cousin, we are gods on this planet. It is only just for us to do what gods must. As Nightwing and Flamebird had done to create our world, we must break to rebuild. You will understand this, with time.”

“It’s wrong,” Kara whispered, her voice nothing but a breath. 

“It is wrong for these wretched people to keep your infant cousin hostage from us! Do you not agree? We are his people, we must raise him to know himself. To know Krypton.” The general raised up his hands towards the sun, fingers splayed, and closed his fist. 

The sight, the words, it was too much. Kara’s hands shook. Bile rose in her throat. She thought of her mother’s strong presence. She had been able to stand up against this man; Kara would be like her mother. She would say what needed to be said. “No. You want to raise him to know you . It isn’t right to kill another planet for the sake of ten people.”

“Ten people who will repopulate! Who will be saviors!” General Zod’s voice was devoid of whatever false kindness he had tried to exhibit only moments ago. For a brief moment his eyes seemed to burn a deep red. Unsure, Kara took a short step back. She wished she could run away. Her eyes dropped back to the ground, her lips trembled. She refused to cry. She could not. She had to be strong. For Kal. “You will be an important figure, Kara Zor-El, cousin to Kal-El, the last son of Krypton, the first son of our new reign on this third planet from the nourishing yellow sun. Know your place, as he will grow to know his, and all will be well.”

She could hear distant screams. 

It had begun. 

Kara’s fingers tingled as she pressed her hands against her ears. It was so loud. The screams of the humans melded into her memory of the shouting, the crying, the praying, the destruction of her home. It was one and the same. It was torture, hard and rushed and plain, a terrible torture that would never end.

General Zod’s hand cupped her chin, tilted her head up so their eyes would meet. “Do we have an understanding, Kara Zor-El?” 

The Talon’s door crumpled with a sharp noise that caused several people to scream. Clark stepped forward, eyes wide, unsure, unsteady, his thoughts wild and stuck on one thing: he needed to protect everyone here. Whatever this was, he had to keep everybody safe. There was a brief moment of silence before the barricade fell with a crash. No, it didn’t fall, more like it—fell into itself. The person stepping inside took their hand and smashed the tables until they were obliterated into nothing.

It had been a futile attempt to secure themselves. 

The person stepped inside. It was a man, tall and broad, wearing a silver jumpsuit. There was a symbol on the chest, small and—

Clark took a step back.

It was familiar. Not quite the same, but familiar. Like the symbols in the cave, the symbols Clark knew had to come from wherever he had come from. He swallowed, stuck, as the man raised the large gun in his arms and yelled out words in a language Clark had never heard before. Despite that, the message was clear, especially when the man pulled the trigger. There was no bullet; a stream of bright light struck the counter, causing several people to scream out in fear. A fissure grew in a hole the size of a golf ball. 

“What the fu—” Lex muttered, only to shut up when the man swung the gun towards him. Clark gasped and took a half-step towards him, but the man did not press the trigger again. He tilted his chin towards the door, an open invitation that nobody could deny. “Clark,” Lex whispered as they slowly moved towards the doorway, “you’ve done a lot of impressive things in the time I’ve known you, but don’t you dare try any heroics.”

The muscle in Clark’s jaw twitched as he forced himself forward. “Don’t think I can do much against whatever the heck that was.” And, despite himself, Clark asked, “Any idea how someone could have laser beam guns?”

They stumbled onto the sidewalk. Another man with a gun was standing in the middle of the street, watching the procession with hooded eyes. He nearly looked bored, as if holding a whole town hostage was something that was of no significance to him. Clark forced himself to look away from the man and followed the flow of people. He could hear Lana’s unsteady footsteps behind him. 

Lex breathed out of his nose as his eyes flickered towards their captors. “Unless they’ve come straight out of a science fiction film set, I can’t say I have any idea where somebody could get technology like that. I have to admit, Clark—I’m a bit frightened right now. This has reached a whole new level of— weird .”

Clark didn’t answer. 

It was weird and scary and it had to do, somehow, with him. There was no way it was just a coincidence that these strange gun-wielding men ended up in Smallville. Not with the meteor rocks around. Not with Clark Kent, resident alien-next-door, in this town. 

A hand wrapped around his bicep. Clark knew without turning around, with only the simple touch, that it was Lana. He could hear Chloe’s heavy breathing behind him. “Everything’s going to be okay,” Clark said, the words tasting like a lie, bitter and awful and all unknown. He repeated himself, his words stale on his tongue. His fingers felt numb. 

At the end of the street, they were forced to kneel on the ground. 

Clark gritted his teeth as he sat down. It looked as though everyone in Smallville was here, pressed close together, shaking, crying, confused. Clark spotted his parents, not even five feet away, his father hugging his mother close. Their eyes met. “Dad! Mom!” Clark called out, only to be met with a round of screams when a flash of light struck out. 

There was a moment, so brief it felt as though time itself was no longer real, as though, maybe, he had sped himself up to make everything come to a standstill, but he knew that wasn’t true, he knew because he could hear the screaming, clear and loud and ringing, could feel as Lex wrapped his arms around him, as though to shield him from danger— wasn’t that Clark’s job? —and could see the mounting horror in his father’s eyes. Clark breathed out, unsteady and ragged, and clutched at his right shoulder. 

There hadn’t been any meteor rock inside that shot, yet it hurt. It hurt so bad that cold tears streamed down his face. 

“Oh my god, Clark!” Lana cried out in a soft tone as she grabbed his wrist and wrenched his hand back from his shoulder. 

“It looks like the laser cauterized it,” Lex muttered as he brushed back Clark’s hair from his face. It was the same habit his mom had. The gesture made Clark want to lean closer to his friend. “You alright, buddy? You’re going to be alright.” He answered himself, as though he couldn’t accept the fact that Clark could be hurt.

Clark blinked, unable to respond as he stared at his own wound. The skin was charred, black and red and ugly. The bullet of light had seemed to only graze him. He wasn’t healing. Why wasn’t he healing? Clark met the cold, dark eyes of the man who shot him. He stared at Clark coldly, uncaring.

So these were his people. 

It took far too long for Clark to sit up on his own. Chloe had wiped his tears away with a handkerchief from her pocket and Pete had been able to slowly crawl his way towards Clark’s parents to reassure them that he was as fine as he could be after taking an alien gunshot to the shoulder. He could see that his friends—hell, even some folks he barely even knew—were worried about him, but Clark sat forward on his knees and breathed out heavily from his nose. 

There was a long quiet, nothing beyond soft whispering and breathing. Their captors spoke to each other from time to time in their language, seemingly casual as they waited for who knows what. A leader? A ship? A final word before they finally turned the barrel’s into the waiting crowd and shot without concern? Nobody seemed willing to say the word ‘alien’ aloud, but Clark could see it in everybody’s eyes. Every now and then, Lana or Chloe rubbed at his back or arm and Lex reassured him that he would be okay, but Clark paid them no mind as he stared at the men holding their town hostage. 

The man who shot him kept meeting his eye and smirking, as though proud to have shown his strength over Clark. When Lex realized what Clark was doing, he placed his hand on the back of Clark’s neck and forced his head down and hissed out, “Don’t go antagonizing these people, Clark.”

“I’m not.” Clark breathed out as he met Lex’s wide eyes. 

Lex, despite everything, raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to the side, as though they were making conversation in his study or Clark’s loft. “Oh, well, my bad. The staring daggers at the big guy with the Sci-Fi Channel style raygun in his hands had me thinking you were looking to start a fight.” 

“You already used that line.” Clark replied with a frown.

“Hey, why don’t you save your cute little quips for after said guy is gone?” Chloe muttered in a quiet voice as her eyes flickered from Lex to their captors. And, in a voice so quiet Clark didn’t quite know how he heard her, “God, I hope they leave.”

It was then that the demeanor of their captors changed: they stood taller, raised their guns up, all called out in one voice a single word. Two distinct figures were walking towards the street. Clark squinted. It was a man, wearing what looked like armor with an emblem that resembled an abstract ‘Z’ on the chest. His heavy metal boots caused his footsteps to echo across the street. Behind him was a girl who couldn’t be older than thirteen. She was so pale the sun seemed to reflect off of her for a moment. Unlike the others, she was wearing what looked like a leotard, with shorts to her knees and a short flowing skirt. There was an emblem across her chest in silver, something that nearly looked like an ‘S.’ Her feet were bare.

“Speak in their tongue,” the newcomer harshly replied to the men with a scowl. “As barbaric and ugly as it may be. We are here for a reason.”

Clark watched as the man who had shot him swallowed and, in unison with the others, replied, “Yes, General Zod.” Some had deep accents while others sounded as though they had been speaking English their entire lives. 

General Zod smiled as he turned towards the citizens of Smallville. “I apologize for the abrupt manner in which my people and I have arrived. We would not have done so if it were not of importance to us. Before I begin, it is only polite to make introductions. My name is General Dru-Zod. I am accompanied by my companions, my warriors, who have stood by my side through battles and famine and prison; through the death of our homeworld.” His words seeped into the air, sincere and plain, otherworldly and odd. Clark breathed out of his nose, all too aware of the way his shoulder continued to throb. The only comfort was the sun that beamed onto the back of his neck. 

“Along with my companions is a young girl who will now approach you.” There was a long pause before the general cleared his throat and turned towards the young girl. “Kara. Do as you are told.” His voice changed from forced pleasantry to a sharp harshness that made several people gasp. The girl wavered, her eyes on the ground, and stepped forward. She walked along the edges of their makeshift line, occasionally kneeling or stepping between people. The girl kept whispering sorry sorry sorry as she did. “If all goes well, I solemnly promise to ensure the safety of all who live in this—township, in what is to come.”

“What is to come?” Chloe murmured. 

Her voice was quiet, yet General Zod turned his attention to her, his dark eyes meeting her own as he stepped towards them. “Yes, what is to come will be a greatness like no other. While our home planet of Krypton may be gone, myself, my companions, dear young Kara, and one very important person, are the last of our kind. Together, we will take leadership of this wretched world, and create it in the image of what we had lost. Do not cry, do not cry. Please, this is not something to fear. As I said, you all will be safe. We will have a need for servants; imagine us, my dear companions, battle-hardened and beaten so many times, waited for hand and foot by these creatures? It is a gift, given to us by our Last and True Son.”

As he spoke, the man turned away from Chloe, back towards his men, who grinned widely at the concept of keeping servants. Human slaves. Clark’s hands shook. He needed to figure a way out of this. But—how? They were grown men, fighters with guns and skills, and he was just—Clark Kent. Sure, he’d fought plenty of people, but most of his wins were accidents and he didn’t exactly know how to do anything more than tussle around and hope for the best. Didn’t have to know anything when his strength tripled that of what a normal person had.

The girl Kara kneeled next to a toddler, who turned his head towards her with large, curious eyes. She rubbed her fingers over his forehead with a wavering smile, another apology, and walked along. Her footsteps faltered as she stepped past General Zod. She lingered for a moment and Clark met her pale eyes. She looked so young it made Clark’s heart break. Had she been born among these harsh men? She must have been, young as she was. This girl was one of his people too, born to a planet neither had ever known. Kara glanced away from him and continued walking. 

“Oh my God,” Lana whispered after a few minutes. “She’s looking for a baby?”

It was true, Clark realized with a start that made him straighten up. He watched as Kara kept walking towards children under the age of five. She seemed more interested in the boys than—

Clark froze, his entire body suddenly and completely cold. 

One very important person , the general had said. A baby. A boy. An alien. Him .

Chapter Text

Five times Kara had scoured through the crowd of humans in search of Kal-El, her young infant cousin, but none of the babies she found were him. Panic, somehow both white hot and startling cold, settled in her bones as she rushed through the crowd another time. She could feel the impatience of Zod, his dark, unwavering eyes lingering on the back of her neck, but she ignored him best she could. She needed to find Kal. She had to. If only to end this eternal hour. But—

Her eyes wandered over the teenage boy again. 

He was a few years older than her, Kara could tell, with large, strong shoulders and a square jaw and bright, determined eyes. There was a wound on his shoulder, a definite show of strength against the humans by one of Zod’s men. He was older than her. Yet. Kara felt as though she could see the shadow of her aunt Lara in his eyes and dark hair, the sturdy lines of Jor-El in his stature. It couldn’t be. Kara forced herself to glance away again. 

“Kara Zor-El.” Zod called out in a deceivingly calm voice in the tongue of the humans. “You have trekked the crowd several times now, back and forth once and again and again, feigning the look of a canine barred within a cage. I am beginning to question whether you appreciate the offer I have given you.”

Kara froze, her heart in her throat as she whispered, her voice an oddly hollow imitation of herself, “I do. I do understand, General Zod. I—”

“Then where is he? One of these wretched creatures must have him in their possession.” 

Hands shaking, Kara turned to meet Zod’s eye. When she spoke her voice was strained, her words tripping over each other as she tried her best to explain to the man. “I—I. I cannot find him. He’s—you were—your people were, uh, mistaken. He isn’t here . None of these children are Kal-El.” That Kara was certain of. None of the children were her cousin. That was all she could understand in that moment, a silver-threaded truth that she hoped the general would latch onto as well.

The general took five steady steps towards Kara. He breathed out and asked, quiet, devastating, aggrieved, “Are you lying to me, Kara Zor-El? I want to trust you, though I cannot forget that you come from a bloodline of traitors. Your very own mother had been the one to cast me and my dutiful men into the Phantom Zone. Your uncle the one to betray me to her and the council. Lies and deceit flow through the veins of children within the House of El.”

“My mother married into the El name.” Kara replied shakily, a small childish urge to snark that she couldn’t keep herself from saying. Her mother used to chide her for her sharp tongue. Know the time and place, Kara, or else you risk your well-being . She had gotten into a fight, once, because of the words she couldn’t hold back, which had ended with Kara’s lip swollen and her knuckles bruised. The other girl had received a broken wrist—a fact that Kara’s father had praised her for behind her mother’s back. 

This was not the right moment for her to say such a thing, she knew it as she saw Zod’s eyes harden. She did not see him move, but suddenly she was thrown to the ground, her cheek burning from a slap. Kara groaned as she glanced around. A human was trying to reach out to help her, but was being held back by several pairs of hands, fear overcoming them all. They were screaming, yelling, pleading, all for her: leave her alone, run, stop, no, she’s just a child !

Her eyes met the dark-haired boy’s clear blue eyes. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched. He looked so much like her aunt that Kara’s heart hurt just to look into his eyes. Leave her alone , came his voice from the barrage of screams, clear and steady and broken despite it, and Kara knew the truth she wished she could deny. She shook her head at the boy and glanced back at Zod. 

“I do not lie, Dru-Zod.” Kara ground out as she clutched her cheek. Cold tears fell down her face, but she paid it no mind as she stared at the man standing over her. He would not kill her. There was only one woman among his people and, despite the burning bile that rose inside of her at the thought, Kara would have to live for the eventual repopulation of their people that the general wanted. 

From Kara’s peripheral she could see as one of Zod’s men shifted, his mouth half-open, only to close it and force his gaze onto the ground. Kara hated them all with a passion she never knew she had within her before. The cries of the humans grew louder as General Zod reached down, wrapped a hand around her hair, and dragged her across the street towards the closest male infant. 

“Which is it? Tell me.” Zod ground out, his words slipping back into their native tongue in his violent anger. “Which one is Kal-El?”

His grip was tight and strong. The gravel beneath her did not burn her skin. Only her head and shoulders burned in answer to his brutal use of power over her. More tears collected in her eyes and fell. She kicked and reached towards his arms, scratched at his wrists, pulled at them, but she was nothing compared to him. She was nothing. She was half aware that words were tumbling out of her mouth— stop, he isn’t here, no, stop, please, no, help me, help me, help me —in a mixture of the human tongue and her own. 

Zod’s grip tightened and, slowly, he lifted her up as though she was a doll. Kara’s arms dropped in defeat and her tears flowed freely. As strong as she tried to be, she could never be enough to stop this man. She would be his prisoner. She already was his prisoner. She met his dark eyes. “I’m—”

His right arm raised up, as though to grab onto her face again, to hit her, to control her, and a keening whine left Kara’s lips, a soft help to anyone or anything, to gods no longer alive and never alive within this world. Everything felt as though it was moving so slowly. His hand was close, reaching for her, only to be caught by another. 

Kara blinked. 

“I said. Leave. Her. Alone.”

He could feel his parents' eyes on him, but he couldn’t turn away from the sight in front of them all. General Zod was dragging the girl across the street, pausing before toddlers as she cried out in English and their foreign language. Her pale cheeks were bright red as tears fell down her face. Clark’s entire body shook. He could feel his parents’ eyes on him. He could basically hear what they would say to him. His father: just wait it out . His mother: you have to do something.

And—

He might have done nothing. He might have kept his head down, let it all happen. He might have been a coward, if he didn’t watch as General Zod raised Kara into the air by her hair, if didn’t watch as she cried and let out a quiet help that seemed to embed itself into his heart and Clark breathed out and knew, without any doubt, he couldn’t sit still for any longer. She was begging for help. She was being hurt right in front of them all. 

And Clark—he could do something. 

Even if their guns could hurt him. Even though he was so scared his heart pounded in his ears and his hands shook. Clark didn’t think. Instinct took over. He moved. 

With a gust of wind, he had left the spot where he knelt and was in front of General Zod. He caught the man’s hand in his own. Surprise caused his face to shift as Clark gritted out, “I said—Leave. Her. Alone.” The shock was enough for Zod to drop Kara onto the ground, the girl landing harshly onto her knees. She pressed her cold, wet face against Clark’s leg and sobbed. The desperate sounds of her cries was enough to make Clark push Zod with all of his strength. The man flew back about twenty yards. “Are you okay?” Clark asked Kara, ignoring the several guns aimed his way. 

Those would hurt him, but he didn’t regret what he did, even as he heard his parents scream out his name. Zod had been hurting Kara. Who, as far as Clark could figure based on all Zod had said, might be a relative of his. He might not know her, but he knew enough. Besides, he was the only person with the power to do something . He couldn’t step back and watch the man beat a little girl. That’s not who his parents raised him to be. 

“Run. Please.” Kara whispered through her tears. She peeked through her thin blonde hair, her bloodshot blue eyes gazing at him intensely. “Please.”

Clark shook his head. “I’m not going to leave you alone with these—monsters.”

Zod picked himself up and was back in front of Clark in a blink of an eye that made him stumble back a step. The man gave him a toothy grin, manic and wild and terrifying. He spoke in that other language, only to pause when he caught what must have been a look of bewilderment on Clark’s face. “You are Kryptonian, are you not? Had Jor-El sent you onto this planet with his son? Tell me, boy, where is Kal-El? Where have you hidden the child? If you obey me, I will gift you with kindness. I will allow you to live and thrive in our new kingdom. You could be a father to New Krypton along with myself and my companions. You could wed the girl, whom you seem fond of, as a show of my generosity if that is what you wish. All you must do is tell me, boy, where is Kal-El?” Each word was more and more desperate, enough to make Clark place a protective hand atop of Kara’s head. 

“I just want you to leave her alone! Her and all these people. They’ve done nothing!” Clark couldn’t look away from Zod as he spoke, afraid that the man would strike if he wasn’t watching. 

“They are no innocents, boy. We had information that Jor-El had sent his son to this planet, to this township. We were able to trace the pod signature here. I know Kal-El is here. Either you or one of these creatures are holding him from us. All I ask, humbly and dutifully, as one of the last warriors of Krypton, is for the child to be delivered to me. Our race is dead, boy. Together, we can rebuild what we lost.” Zod held out a hand, smiled, feigning kindness with a voice that softened with each word. “Tell me, where is Kal-El?” 

Clark glanced down at Kara, out towards his weeping parents. “If I tell you where Kal-El is, you’ll leave? You won’t hurt Kara, won’t hurt anyone?”

“Of course, my boy.” Zod replied. “I am not a cruel man.” 

“Clark!” His dad’s sharp voice rang through the air.

Kara clutched at his calf, her nails digging into his skin, but he paid her no mind. He needed to believe Zod. He had to. Clark swallowed and met Zod’s eyes. He knew what he had to do. No matter the fact that he was so afraid that his heart beat louder than anything. His burnt shoulder ached. “I don’t really know what’s happening, but I—I think I’m Kal-El. I’m the boy you’re looking for.”

“Clark, no!” His mother yelled out. “Clark!”

“My parents keep the spaceship they found me in in our storm cellar.” Clark continued as though his mom didn’t speak, his voice strong despite the weakness in his knees as he revealed his deepest truth in front of everybody he had known his entire life. “I arrived here twelve years ago with a meteor shower.”

Zod stared at him, as though he couldn’t process the words coming out of Clark’s mouth. He raised up a hand and minutely shook his head. There was an unexpected expression on his face, something close to bemused, as though he wanted to laugh at Clark. “You lie, boy. It has not been a year since our world collapsed into itself. It—”

“It’s possible.” An accented voice answered. The man who had shot Clark gave him a dark look as he stepped towards his leader. He began to speak in their native language for a few minutes before Zod raised a hand up to stop him. The man swallowed and glanced down at his feet as he stepped away, dismissed. 

“Twelve years.” Zod muttered with a furrowed brow. “I see you now, Kal-El. You have Jor-El’s presence, his voice, and you have your mother’s beautiful features. I was once quite fond of Lara Lor-Van. Her sweet nature and inquisitive eyes; it is reflected in you. Those eyes—her eyes—care deeply and truly for this planet you have been forced upon. Living as something you are not. We are gods on this planet, yet you knelt among them as though you were equal to them. A shame. I thought I could raise Kal-El to be a man worthy of being the Last and True Son of Krypton, but you are something wickedly small. You are nothing. No one. You beg for their lives. I am sick; my stomach hurts with this. You have caused me great sadness, Kal-El.”

Clark opened his mouth, only to fall over himself as a fist met his face. The man was atop of him, his fists beating into his face over and over, and no matter how hard Clark pushed at his shoulders, Zod stayed on him, beating him. He could feel as his skin split open, blood spilling into his mouth. He dropped his hands from Zod’s shoulders.

He could distantly hear Kara’s ear-splintering screams, see through a single eye as she pushed at Zod’s shoulders, tried to hold him back, but it was futile. She was only a little girl. Clark whispered, his voice strained. “You promised.” He hardly sounded like himself; it was as though somebody else was speaking through him, words meek and soft and nothing like him. Clark coughed, harsh and loud, until spittle fell onto his chin. 

Zod sat up. His knuckles had split open with the force of beating Clark, but he could see through his single, blood-filled eye as the man's hands slowly began to heal. “None of these creatures matter, Kal-El. You will have to learn this. Ker-Ao, Wes-Yun. Take the children of the House of El and contain them. We will deal with these pests in a moment.”

His words echoed in Clark’s ears. No. That wasn’t what Zod told him. He couldn’t hurt them. He couldn’t. Clark blinked; he couldn’t see anything but red, so much red, the outline of a figure moving away from him. Clark struggled to sit up, ignored the small hands of Kara as she grabbed onto his chest, urged his back against her chest. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t see—yet. He could hear the heavy steps of Zod. Clark breathed out of his nose. 

Heat, bright and angry and wanting, gathered behind his eyes. 

The voice that yelled didn’t feel like his own, but he could feel his lips moving, could feel the strain in his neck.

“YOU—PROMISED!”

There was something biblical about the scene in front of her: handsome, black-haired All-American Clark Kent, sprawled on the street, a bloody mess, his lip split open, so much so that Chloe could see his blood-stained pearly white teeth. He was more of a mess of flesh than man. The monster who beat him senseless stepped away in a contained rage that caused Chloe to shiver. Her tears felt as though they were frozen inside of her. She felt so cold. She couldn’t cry any longer. All she could do—as everyone around her screamed, as the young girl pulled Clark into her, as Lex kept a stunned grip on Lana’s wrist as she begged and wept—was think. 

Chloe swallowed and turned towards a man kneeling near her. Leonard Wallace. He was a kind man, the sort who gave most people who walked into his auto repair shop a discount on account of knowing them for so long. Leonard Wallace. Possible meteor freak; Chloe swore she had watched his hand stretch out a good foot from where his wrist lay. Trick of the light or elastic powers à la glowing green meteor rocks? Chloe knew where her opinion lay. 

She leaned towards the man and hissed, “You have to do something.”

Leonard Wallace blinked at her dully, until her words seemed to register in his mind. “He’ll kill me.”

Chloe choked out, “He’s going to no matter what. You have—have the power to do something. Please. Please, Mr. Wallace.” 

Wallace swallowed and shook his head. Chloe wanted to lunge at him, wanted to shout at him for being a coward, for holding back when he had a gift, a way to help all of them—to help Clark. Before she could do anything, her attention was caught by a sudden and piercing yell from the street. The concrete beneath Chloe’s knees shook and she fell into someone’s shoulder as she registered that guttural, otherworldly yell as Clark. Her eyes were stuck onto him. Somehow, his lip seemed to be healed, as though the general’s knuckles hadn’t torn it to shreds. His sweet, light eyes shone red. 

A line of fire burst through the air and onto the big bad alien general. 

The fire spread from his shoulder to his face. With the fire came chaos, sweet and terrifying, as people ran about in all directions. Most ran away, but Chloe couldn’t help it as she struggled onto her feet and tried to push towards Clark. A few of the guards raised their laser guns towards Clark, ready to shoot him. A scream built in her throat as someone pushed Chloe onto her ass and stepped on her hand. She could feel the crunch of her bone grinding beneath the pressure, but she didn’t care. Clark was going to die. He couldn’t die. 

This was Clark; sweet, handsome, broody, goofy Clark Kent. He was something else entirely. He couldn’t die. 

Chloe breathed in, ready to cry out.

On the breath out, she gasped. 

An elongated arm wrapped around the ankles of one captor; another seemed to disappear altogether. Chloe struggled to stand up, her eyes landing on Clark amongst the disorder. His face was turned towards the sky by the young girl Kara. Chloe called out his name. Clark’s face, bloody and swollen and healing, somehow, turned towards her. Their eyes met. He opened his mouth, his lips forming her name, and—

He was gone. 

Chloe stood up. 

He had been there. Their eyes had met. How? Where—?

Both Clark and Kara had vanished into thin air.