Chapter 1: Important notes and dedications
Chapter Text
💫 Hi there! 💕
I’ve been wanting to do something related to two series I absolutely love: Gotham (2014) and Smallville (2001).
I’m watching the last seasons of Smallville a bit slowly—life gets busy—but I’m fascinated by how both shows portray Bruce and Clark in their teenage versions.
They inspired me so much that they gave me more ideas for my fanfic “Just Another Cliché Story.”
(I know, I know… not the most original title—I’m terrible at titles and summaries… honestly, at everything—but I’m really fond of my stories anyway 💕).
Even though the two series are so different and came out years apart, I wanted to connect them. I love imagining what would happen if this Bruce and this Clark met… and what if something sparked between them?
There isn’t much content that connects these particular versions, so I decided to make my own.
This fanfic is Omegaverse, an idea that actually came from my best friend, who encouraged me to add that dynamic to make things even more interesting.
Because, let’s be honest—Smallville’s Clark loves intensely. He’s sweet, protective, and passionate. As an Alpha, being near Bruce throws him completely off balance.
Meanwhile, Gotham’s Bruce is cold, arrogant, and distant—not out of cruelty, but because his pain forced him to build walls. Yet when Clark enters his life, those walls slowly start to crumble.
If you haven’t seen the shows, I highly recommend both! Personally, I enjoyed Gotham more for its darker tone and amazing villains, but Smallville definitely has—at least for me—the best live-action Clark Kent.
(Yes, Clark Kent, not Superman). His journey from discovering his powers to becoming the hero we all know is just so well written.
In this story, Clark is already on his way to becoming Superman, while Bruce is just beginning the path that will lead him to become Batman.
Both keep the essence of their series, but within a world shaped by my own Omegaverse twist.
You could technically say the story takes place between Season 4 of Smallville and Season 5 of Gotham, though I’m not following either show’s canon too strictly—it’s more of a reference point to set the mood and timeline.
It’s a short story, but one made with a lot of love—and it’s dedicated to my best friend, Des, who’s always been there for me, supporting my projects, looking after my emotional well-being, and making me laugh with her silliness.
I love you. Thank you for being my big sister in this life. 💕
I hope you enjoy this fanfic as much as I’m enjoying writing it.
As always, I’d love to read your comments, thoughts, theories—or even your complaints (lovingly, of course).
Thank you so much for reading. 🦇🌿
Chapter Text
The room was swallowed by darkness, lit only by the faint, flickering glow of three monitors. Images overlapped across the screens—missing persons, satellite maps, chemical diagrams, reports of bodies found with traces of radiation.
Bruce Wayne didn’t blink; the blue light reflected in his pupils, cold and sharp.
The sound of the keyboard was the only thing alive in the residence where they were staying at that hour.
The clock struck three a.m. when a new notification appeared in the corner of the screen.
An encrypted message—bearing the seal of the Gotham City Police Department.
Sender: James Gordon.
Bruce opened it without hesitation. Inside was an attached file, locked with a code only the two of them knew. Once entered, the detective’s weary face appeared in a video recording.
“The reports about the disappearances in the Narrows district match what you mentioned, Bruce,”
Gordon’s voice was tired; the older man rubbed his temples, staring straight into the camera.
“The radiation traces are uncommon, and LuthorCorp’s labs seem to be involved in something bigger.
Witnesses claim they’ve seen armored transports heading out toward Kansas—to a town called Smallville.
I’m sending you everything I could recover from a trusted source. Be careful.”
Bruce leaned back in his chair, letting each word sink in.
Data unfolded on the monitor in cascading lines:
Smallville, Kansas — meteor shower, 2001 — genetic alterations — local anomalies — LuthorCorp activity beneath county soil — illegal mining.
He exhaled slowly. The name kept repeating itself.
Smallville.
A rural town lost on the map, yet marked by an unusual number of paranormal incidents and unsolved disappearances.
A place that seemed small… but perhaps just big enough to hide hell itself.
The door opened softly.
“Young Master Bruce,” came Alfred’s calm, firm voice, breaking the silence.
The butler stepped in carefully, carrying a silver tray with a teapot and two porcelain cups.
He set it down on the nearest table, his eyes falling on whatever had captured his young master’s full attention.
“You’ve been awake since last night,” Alfred noted. “What investigation has you so obsessed this time?”
Bruce didn’t look away from the screen. His eyes scanned every bit of data, one window opening after another.
He finally turned his chair toward Alfred.
“Disappearances. Experiments. Biotech trafficking. Everything connects to a green, radioactive material of unknown origin.”
He moved the cursor, highlighting a name that glowed faintly on the monitor.
“LuthorCorp.”
Alfred tilted his head, curious. He recognized the name well—it had been a corporate rival to the Waynes for decades.
“Lionel Luthor?” he asked, crossing his arms. “I’m afraid that name never brought good fortune to anyone who’s dealt with him—or his family.”
“I know. Even my father had issues with that man,” Bruce replied, turning back to the screens.
“But ever since Lionel went to prison, things seemed to quiet down. Still, lately, his company’s illegal operations have doubled. Gordon sent me these files—meteor shower in 2001, Kansas. Since then, there have been reports of mutations, people with abilities beyond normal… even creatures. LuthorCorp’s been extracting material from that zone for years. I’m not sure why—but nothing good comes out of there.”
Alfred watched him with that mix of pride and concern only a father could feel.
Bruce was far too young to be carrying so many secrets—too many scars for someone his age.
Since the death of his parents, investigation had become his only way to breathe.
But what worried Alfred most wasn’t the obsession—it was the vulnerability.
Bruce had recently presented as an Omega.
And in Gotham, that was practically a sentence. In that rotten city, trafficking, assaults, and disappearances were the fate of those born with a second gender.
Bruce had been kidnapped twice by the Valeska brothers—two deranged Alphas who found pleasure in chaos.
Fortunately, back then, his biology had still been dormant.
Even so, Jeremiah had injected him with a hallucinogenic gas in an attempt to trigger his first heat. It hadn’t worked.
The experience had left deep marks on him, of course—but it had also revealed something strange: Bruce was incapable of perceiving Alpha pheromones.
It was as if his body had completely shut off the part of him that made him an Omega.
All Alfred wanted was to keep him safe.
He didn’t want to lose the fragile life he’d sworn to protect—but all he could do was obey, and guard it with every breath he had left.
He glanced at the boy’s eyes, tense and unblinking, fixed on the monitors.
A sigh escaped him as he clasped his hands neatly behind his back.
“And what will be your next move, sir?”
Bruce narrowed his eyes, leaning deeper into the chair.
“I’m going to Smallville. If LuthorCorp is experimenting on humans, I’ll find out. The disappearances in Gotham might just be the surface of something much larger.”
“Kansas is quite far from our usual boundaries,” Alfred remarked, his tone not reproachful, but gently paternal.
“And if your suspicions are correct, it won’t be a pleasant countryside visit.”
Bruce gave the faintest hint of a smile, crossing one leg over the other.
“It never is.”
Silence lingered for a moment.
The light from the monitors flickered once more, illuminating the tense young face of an Omega who had learned to survive among predators.
He rose slowly and turned off the computer with a single, sharp click.
“We’ll use the jet. We leave at dawn.”
Alfred exhaled, resigned.
“Very well, Master Bruce. I suppose this will be another one of those investigations that ‘will only take a couple of days.’”
“Just the summer,” Bruce murmured, pouring tea into a cup.
“Long enough to expose them.”
The scent of chamomile filled the air, pushing away the chill of the room.
Bruce handed one of the cups to Alfred, moving with the calm precision of someone who had already made an irreversible choice.
The butler regarded him with a blend of exhaustion and affection.
“If you truly mean to go to that town, be careful,” he said gravely.
“Never underestimate small places. Sometimes the quietest towns hide the most dangerous monsters. Smallville might be another Gotham—just painted in brighter colors.”
Bruce offered the faintest curl of a smile.
“There’s nothing in that town that could surprise me,” he replied evenly.
“I’ve seen the worst of humanity… and the worst of myself.”
Alfred raised a brow.
“That doesn’t make you immune, sir. Only more stubborn.”
Bruce turned his gaze toward the blank screens, where his reflection merged with the darkness.
He knew Alfred was right—but it was too late to turn back now. This was just another mystery he needed to uncover.
“Get some rest, Alfred,” he finally said, his voice softer, more tired.
“Tomorrow we’ll make the arrangements. I don’t want to draw attention. We’ll make it look like a simple vacation… a visit to the countryside.”
Alfred nodded, catching the subtext.
“A summer getaway for young Master Wayne. How appropriate,” he sighed, taking a sip of tea.
“Though I fear this summer will be anything but peaceful.”
Bruce didn’t answer. He simply watched the steam rise from his cup, spiraling into the dim light before fading into the shadows.
He took a slow sip before leaving the room, descending the stairs while his thoughts burned brighter than the lamps around him.
Settling by the fireplace, he stared quietly at the glowing embers.
Deep down, he already knew—
that in a place called Smallville, nothing would be as harmless as it seemed.
And for that reason alone… he had to be ready.
...
Was it six… or maybe seven in the morning?
Clark Kent’s blue eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, unblinking.
The phone alarm buzzed on his nightstand, insistent, until he lazily reached out and silenced it. His long fingers moved with the precision of exhaustion. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple shifting slowly down his throat.
He didn’t want to think—
but his mind wouldn’t let him rest.
Ever since he was a kid, he had tried to live a normal life.
But in Smallville, there were others like him—people touched by that meteor shower that had fallen years ago. People with gifts, mutations, or curses, depending on how one looked at it.
Still, none of them were like him.
Deep down, he knew:
Smallville was too small for him.
Too small for what he was… yet the only place where he could hide.
The only place where he could pretend to be just another farm boy.
He knew it was, in a way, his fault—that so many people carried mutations born from his arrival.
But what he feared most now was failing to look normal.
What if I can’t live beyond this town?
What if everything I am only brings pain to others?
The thought hurt more than he cared to admit.
He turned on his side, burying his face into the pillow. The fabric creased beneath his deep breath, and he had to focus to keep from crushing the mattress in his arms.
He wrinkled his nose at the faint, sour scent clinging to his room.
He was grateful his parents were Betas—otherwise they’d be able to smell how his own pheromones betrayed his unrest.
“Clark, honey, wake up,” Martha’s voice called softly through the door.
“Are you going to help your father with the tractor, or are you planning to stay locked in that room forever?”
Clark let out a long sigh, raking a hand through his chestnut hair, messy and damp with sweat.
“I’m coming, Mom…” he replied, forcing a tired smile that didn’t sound the least bit convincing.
He rose slowly. The wooden floor creaked beneath his bare feet.
He reached for the red cotton shirt and worn jeans draped over his desk chair, dressing without hurry.
In the mirror, his reflection showed a seventeen-year-old boy who didn’t look tired—
but he was. Deeply. On the inside.
He made his way to the bathroom, turned the faucet, and splashed cold water on his face. The drops slid down his neck, soaking into the collar of his shirt.
He didn’t need sleep—his body never demanded it—
but his mind was starting to fracture.
Too many thoughts he couldn’t shut off, no matter how hard he tried.
He dried his face with a towel, grabbed his work boots, and headed downstairs.
Martha smiled as he passed, but Clark could barely return it before stepping outside.
The rising sun painted the wheat fields in gold.
The old blue tractor stood parked beside the barn. His father, Jonathan Kent, was already there—arms greased up to the elbows, wiping sweat from his brow with a patient grin.
“Give me a hand with this, son.”
Clark moved closer, ready to lift the engine effortlessly—but his father’s firm voice stopped him.
“No shortcuts. Got it?”
Clark lowered his gaze, pressing his lips together. He knew exactly what that meant.
No super speed. No super strength. No X-ray vision.
Just… human. Even if he could never really be one.
“Alright, Dad,” he murmured, handing him a wrench.
“I don’t want to mess it up again.”
Jonathan gave his shoulder a reassuring pat.
“You didn’t mess up, Clark. You just need to learn to control what you are. There’s no shame in having power, son. The shame is in not knowing how to use it.”
Clark managed a faint smile, but said nothing.
Inside, the words stung.
How do you control something you don’t even understand?
How do you tame a force that feels bigger than yourself?
Every time he got too close to someone, it ended the same way—
he hurt them, scared them, or broke something he couldn’t fix.
Lana.
Pete.
Lex.
Lex Luthor’s name surfaced without warning, like a scar that refused to heal.
For years, they’d been inseparable—best friends.
Lex had looked at him like no one else did: with curiosity, admiration… maybe even belief.
But then everything fell apart.
Lies. Doubts. Unanswered questions.
Lex became obsessed with uncovering his secret—understanding why Clark always walked away unharmed from the impossible.
And Clark…
Clark only knew that if he ever told him the truth, he’d lose him forever.
And yet, he was losing him anyway.
Since then, Smallville had felt emptier.
Too quiet—almost lonely.
Clark finished adjusting the engine. The sounds of the fields—the birds, the wind rustling through the corn—suddenly felt suffocating.
Summer had arrived, bringing with it the weight of a life that seemed to stand still.
Everyone talked about colleges, futures, dreams.
He only thought about running away—and never coming back.
The roar of the engine coming to life pulled him out of his thoughts. Jonathan smiled, satisfied.
“Good job, son. See? You don’t need superpowers to fix things.”
Clark looked at him and nodded.
But his smile cracked before he could hold it.
If only that were true.
If only he didn’t have to pretend that he wasn’t capable of destroying everything he loved with a single move.
Jonathan kept watching his son with that mix of worry and affection—the look of a father who knew something inside Clark was changing, and feared he wouldn’t be able to protect him from himself.
“Son…” he said softly, “you don’t have to carry everything just because you can.”
Clark lowered his head. The barn lights reflected in his blue eyes like fragments of a broken sky. He rubbed his hands together, nervous, trying to contain something he didn’t even understand.
“It’s not that simple, Dad.” His voice came out tight, like the words hurt to say. “Sometimes I feel like I can’t control it. All of it. My strength, my senses… even my emotions. It’s like—like there’s an invisible limit I’m about to break every single day.”
Jonathan stayed silent, giving him space. Clark looked up slightly, his expression that of someone who didn’t want to scare anyone—but no longer knew how to stop what was consuming him.
“I’m scared, Dad.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Scared of hurting someone. Scared I won’t stop in time. Scared that what I am… might end up being a danger to everyone.”
Jonathan stepped closer and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. His touch was warm, grounded—an anchor in the middle of chaos.
“Clark, look at me.” He waited until their eyes met. “You’re not dangerous.
What makes you different isn’t what you can do, son… it’s what you choose to do with it.
Having power doesn’t make you less human. What keeps you human is your heart.
That same heart that makes you care, feel, love.”
Clark took a deep breath, his throat tight. Jonathan smiled, calm as only a farmer used to storms could be.
“You know, when your mother and I found you, we never thought about the why. Only the how. How to give you a home, how to teach you to be good.
And you have been, son. Don’t let fear make you forget that.”
For a moment, the barn filled with silence. Only the sound of crickets outside, and the morning breeze moving the hay ropes.
Clark nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.
“Thanks, Dad,” he murmured at last. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Jonathan smiled gently and patted his shoulder.
“Well, if you really want to thank me, do me a favor—go out for a bit. Clear that head of yours before it explodes.”
Clark let out a small, shy laugh.
“Actually… Chloe invited me out this afternoon. Says I need to ‘detox from my thoughts,’” he said, mimicking his friend’s sarcastic tone.
“Then listen to her.” Jonathan winked. “There’s no better medicine than a good laugh and a decent burger.”
Clark looked at him, and this time, a real smile escaped him.
“I promise, Dad. I’ll go and… try to leave all this behind, at least for a while.”
Jonathan nodded, content.
“That’s all I wanted to hear. And remember, son…” he said one last time, his voice warm and steady,
“not everything that shines inside you was meant to destroy. Some lights exist only to guide the way.”
Clark stayed silent, his father’s words echoing within him long after he walked back into the barn.
His father was right. He had to learn to master what was unknown—
or it would end up mastering him.
...
The steady hum of the private jet’s engine barely rose above the sound of the wind. Outside, the sunset stretched across the horizon. The city had long disappeared behind them.
Bruce didn’t take his eyes off the window. His gaze followed the clear sky as if he could find answers there.
The warm, fading sunlight washed over the wings of the plane, glinting off the subtle Wayne Enterprises logo. In the distance, green fields began to appear.
“Mr. Wayne,” the pilot’s voice came through the intercom, calm and precise. “We’ll be landing in fifteen minutes. Smallville County, Kansas.”
Bruce played with his hands, still staring out the window.
The change was so abrupt it almost hurt.
The gray concrete of Gotham had been replaced by endless stretches of fertile earth and crops breathing beneath the wind. The open, spotless sky felt almost offensive in its purity.
Across from him, Alfred was flipping through a small dossier filled with local data—weather reports, maps, names of LuthorCorp’s subsidiary companies.
“Never thought I’d say this,” Alfred remarked without looking up, “but… the air here feels almost unreal.”
“It is,” Bruce replied quietly. “Everything in this place feels designed to hide something. Too much peace.”
The butler studied him for a moment. Sunlight traced the lines of the young man’s face, outlining the premature hardness in his features.
“Not every secret is born in the dark, Master Bruce,” he said softly. “Some bloom under the sun.”
The Omega lowered his gaze, thoughtful. He didn’t answer.
The jet began its descent through soft white clouds, revealing a clearer view of the rural landscape below—scattered houses, windmills, lonely roads. A perfect American postcard.
Too perfect.
The landing was so smooth that the wheels barely kissed the private runway.
At 2:37 p.m., the jet came to a stop beside an old control shed. The summer heat hit the moment the door opened, flooding the air with the scent of damp soil.
A black limousine waited at the end of the asphalt path. The driver, dressed in a dark suit, bowed slightly as they disembarked. Alfred stepped ahead, opening an umbrella to shield Bruce from the direct sun.
“Welcome to Kansas, Master Bruce,” he said in that ironic tone he used to mask his concern.
The young man didn’t respond. He walked slowly, his black coat shifting lightly with the breeze.
From the stairway to the limousine, every step felt heavy, as though the ground itself were foreign to him.
Once seated in the back, Bruce closed his eyes for a moment. He hoped this trip wouldn’t turn out to be a waste of time.
Alfred shut the door, sat beside him with the case of papers on his lap, and the limousine began to move.
Through the window, the rural landscape stretched out on both sides of the road—tractors, cornfields, children riding bicycles. Everything looked innocent. But in Bruce’s eyes, there was no wonder. Only suspicion.
“Does something trouble you in particular?” Alfred asked, adjusting his tie as he glanced at the map.
“I’m not sure,” Bruce replied, still watching the horizon. “There’s something in the air.
A stillness… artificial.”
The butler gave a faint nod, choosing not to argue.
The clock on the dashboard read 2:47 p.m. There were still more than thirty minutes to go before reaching the house they had rented—a property on the outskirts of town, surrounded by hills and overlooking the fields.
Bruce leaned his forehead against the glass.
The rays of sunlight painted his skin in warm tones, yet he still felt cold.
A reflex. A defense mechanism.
In the distance, a white church rose between the crops, and for a moment, Bruce thought he saw silhouettes beneath the bell tower—children laughing, a dog running, the faint toll of a bell carried by the wind.
Everything seemed so… human.
And yet, something in his Omega instinct—that sense that rarely failed him—whispered that beneath such calm, something deeply unnatural was stirring.
Alfred finally broke the silence.
“We’ll arrive before sundown. Perhaps we could visit the town, see what kind of place Smallville truly is.”
Bruce merely nodded, eyes fixed on the line of the horizon.
“Yes. We can do that.”
But deep down, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the town was already watching him.
That Smallville knew he had arrived.
...
After helping his parents with the farm chores, Clark took a quick shower and left the house just in time. He parked in a nearly full public lot, the warm evening air still hanging over Smallville.
Chloe was already waiting for him at the corner of the Talon Café, leaning against her bike with that mischievous grin of hers. Her blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail, and the notebook tucked under her arm was practically her trademark.
“Kent!” she called out as he parked. “I thought you’d chickened out.”
“I promised I’d go out, didn’t I?” Clark replied, stepping out of the car. “Besides, I needed a break from farm work… and my interplanetary existential crises.”
Chloe burst out laughing.
“Sounds serious. Come on, before you change your mind.”
They walked together along the main street, bathed in the golden light spilling over Smallville’s small downtown. They ended up at Rick’s Diner—one of those cozy spots with soft background music and the smell of fresh coffee. They sat by the window and ordered burgers and fries. Chloe talked endlessly about her plans before leaving Smallville; Clark listened with a quiet smile, grateful for the lightness she always brought into his life.
After all, Chloe had been the first to suspect he wasn’t entirely human—long before he’d dared to admit it himself.
“You know,” she said, sipping her milkshake, “sometimes I forget you’re the most mysterious guy in the county.”
Clark chuckled, twirling his straw between his fingers.
“Sorry, Chloe. I guess I’m not great at talking about myself.”
“You don’t have to be,” she replied softly. “Just… don’t fade away again, okay? I don’t want you disappearing and leaving only your shadow behind. Like you did a few months ago. One day you were gone, and no one knew where you were.”
Clark looked at her, caught off guard by the honesty in her voice. He nodded with a small smile—and this time, it didn’t feel as forced.
A few months ago, before graduation, he hadn’t even understood how he’d ended up in Metropolis. He’d lived through chaos, done things he never thought himself capable of. When he finally came back to his senses and returned home, the world had changed. Chloe had faked his death. His relationship with Lana had fallen apart. And Lex… Lex had become someone else entirely. His father, Lionel, was in prison—though rumor had it, he’d soon walk free thanks to an appeal.
It was all a whirlwind.
And still, all Clark wanted was to forget how scared he really was.
“I promise,” he whispered, and Chloe smiled softly.
When they finished, they left the diner laughing. They walked down Main Street as the sunset turned the sky a deep red. Chloe dragged him into a candy store, and they both came out with bags full of gummies and chocolate.
“You’re such a responsible adult,” she teased as he paid for a ridiculous amount of sweets.
“I’m supporting the local economy,” he said with a grin, happily taking a bite of chocolate. Candy had always been his small form of peace.
They kept walking until they stopped in front of a newly opened comic shop. Chloe turned to him, eyes sparkling.
“Wanna go in? I promise not to judge your superhero taste.”
Clark smiled.
“Only if you promise not to mock my obsession with Warrior Angel.”
They were about to cross the street when the sound broke the calm—a low, elegant purr of an engine that didn’t belong in Smallville.
Clark froze.
A black limousine—one of those you’d only see in Metropolis—pulled up in front of the café across the street. Conversations quieted for a heartbeat; even Chloe frowned, intrigued.
“Well…” she muttered, half-laughing, “looks like royalty just arrived.”
But Clark didn’t laugh.
The air shifted. Something ignited deep in his chest.
He’d sensed the scent long before the car stopped.
Sandalwood.
Clean, woody… refined. But with an undertone of winter—something cold, sharp, and dark beneath it.
From the car, a man of impeccable posture and stern expression stepped out first. And then, from the back seat, he emerged.
Lean. Dressed in black with a kind of quiet elegance that didn’t belong in this town. Dark hair. Pale skin. Silent steps.
Clark didn’t know what hit him first—the sudden racing of his pulse or the sharp tingle at the base of his neck.
His fangs itched.
His pupils dilated.
And before he could stop himself, his body betrayed him.
His scent slipped out—soft but distinct, drifting into the warm evening air like a cool breath at the end of winter.
A faint, clean fragrance… like the earth stirring beneath the thaw.
The young man didn’t look up. Didn’t seem to notice.
But the older Alpha who accompanied him did.
Chloe frowned.
“Clark… are you okay?” she whispered, seeing the way his shoulders tensed, his body trembling.
He didn’t answer. He could barely breathe.
The Alpha—Alfred Pennyworth—held the café door open for a few seconds, making sure the boy had gone inside. Then, without subtlety, his gaze swept the street… until it landed on Clark.
For an instant, the world stood still.
Then Chloe grabbed his arm, nervous, tugging him away.
“Come on, before that guy says something weird,” she muttered with a laugh, dragging him toward the comic shop. “Unless you want to get arrested for stalking the aristocracy.”
Clark barely managed to move, his heart hammering against his chest with a rhythm he couldn’t explain.
He didn’t even know the boy’s name.
But something deep inside him… had already recognized him.
Notes:
I promised myself I wouldn’t post anything new until I finished at least one of my three ongoing stories... but here I am again, completely ignoring that promise.
Updates will come slowly, bit by bit—just building whatever my little brain manages to imagine.
Honestly, I haven’t been this obsessed with a ship in a long time. Well, not since 2021 with GoYuu—but that’s a story for another day.
Thank you so much for reading, and don’t forget to leave a comment.
🌿🦇
Chapter Text
Alfred watched the two boys disappear into the comic shop, leaving behind the faint trace of the Alpha who had flooded the street with that cold-wind-melting scent. He wrinkled his nose—not in disgust, but in caution.
“Much too young,” he muttered to himself. “Far too impulsive.”
He closed the café door behind him and returned to the table where Bruce was already sitting, back straight, menu in hand. The Omega looked focused on the paper, but Alfred knew him far too well: his eyes weren’t really reading.
They were somewhere else entirely.
Bruce looked up the moment Alfred sat down.
“They’re going to think I’m running away,” he said quietly, almost as if confessing a sin. “After everything that happened… the bridges, the territories at war, Haven reduced to ashes, the tower and the manor destroyed… Smallville is going to look like a refuge. I don’t want them thinking I abandoned Gotham.”
His fingers trembled along the edge of the menu.
Alfred placed a steady hand on the table.
“Master Bruce… no one in Gotham thinks that. And those who do, simply don’t know the truth.”
Bruce’s jaw tightened as he glanced toward his reflection in the window: a young, pale, exhausted face staring back.
“It’s just that sometimes it all feels like a nightmare,” he whispered, biting his lower lip as sadness seeped through the cracks of his control. “Selina… even she seems to hate me.”
Alfred lowered his gaze, caught by a memory that hurt far more than he ever admitted.
The night Bruce returned after facing Bane still weighed on him.
The reunion between Bruce and Selina had been devastating.
She looked at him with shattered eyes, her former Alpha scent reduced to almost nothing…
Yet her fury was still there, burning behind those amber eyes like a flame refusing to die.
Everything had happened after Bruce took the seed Ivy gave him to regain his mobility.
The price had been cruel: Selina lost her Alpha status, degraded to a Beta by the mutation.
And even so, she left without saying another word.
Leaving the boy heartbroken.
Leaving him with yet another wound that would never truly close.
It was because of memories like those—so bitter and heavy—that Alfred understood why Bruce felt like he was running.
“You didn’t leave out of cowardice,” Alfred said softly, though his voice regained its firmness by the end. “You left because Gotham needed something bigger than a wounded boy. It needed hope. And now…” He inhaled, sitting straighter. “Now you’re here because Gotham still needs you. If LuthorCorp took advantage of the chaos to infiltrate the darkest corners of the city, then your duty remains the same: protect it however you can.”
Bruce closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply.
“I don’t want to fail them,” he admitted.
“And you won’t,” Alfred assured him. “Not as long as you keep fighting. Being here isn’t running, sir. It’s taking another path. Investigating what others can’t see. Gotham is rebuilding… the bridges are only just rising again, the gangs are retreating, people are trying to live once more. You’re doing your part. Even if it hurts.”
Bruce’s hands tightened around the paper.
He didn’t cry. He couldn’t. He never allowed himself that luxury.
But the shadow in his gaze said enough.
“Besides,” Alfred added in a quieter tone, laden with meaning, “Miss Kyle knows where to find you. If she chooses to.”
Bruce let out a brief breath and dragged his fingertips across the cold wooden table.
“So… this isn’t running?”
Alfred shook his head with the certainty of someone who had seen the worst of the world—and the best of it.
“No, Master Bruce. This is a strategic move. A dangerous, necessary investigation. One of the many only you can undertake. And if LuthorCorp truly used Gotham’s chaos to move their pieces in the shadows… then coming here is exactly what a Wayne must do.”
Bruce lifted his gaze toward the window.
The sun washed Smallville’s streets in a blinding clarity.
So painfully different from his city.
“I never thought light could feel this heavy,” he whispered.
Alfred allowed himself the faintest smile. “That’s because you’re not used to it. But perhaps this place will offer you something Gotham can’t.”
Bruce raised a brow. “Like what?”
“Perspective,” he replied.
Bruce missed the double meaning.
For now.
But his fate had already shifted.
“Don’t concern yourself with that for now,” Alfred said, his tone firm as he lifted the Geiger counter. The device crackled sharply, filling the quiet with its unsettling hiss. “There are far more pressing matters at the moment… such as the radiation spikes being completely abnormal.”
He angled the screen toward Bruce.
The numbers left no room for doubt.
“It appears the entire town is irradiated, Master Bruce. This isn’t residual. It’s active.”
Bruce went still.
One second.
Two.
His eyes sharpened as he crossed one leg over the other, resting a hand beneath his chin—that particular gesture he only made when something very serious had just clicked into place.
“So it wasn’t just a simple meteor shower,” he murmured. “This… is consistent with what we found in the hidden labs in Haven before they exploded.”
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“LuthorCorp must have been collecting material from Smallville even back then.”
Alfred frowned.
“You believe what happened with Jeremiah—and the experiments from Indian Hill—could be connected to this?”
Bruce nodded slowly.
“If irradiated fragments were being transported between Kansas and Gotham in secret… yes. It tracks.”
He leaned forward, tension settling into his shoulders.
“We have to call Lucius. I need to know how long we can be exposed without risking contamination. And we need to get him a sample. He can compare the levels to the ones we recovered from the Haven laboratories… before that place burned to the ground.”
Alfred exhaled heavily.
“Lucius will not be pleased to hear we’ve been handling radioactive fragments without specialized equipment.”
Bruce lifted his gaze—calm, yet unsettling.
“Fox is never pleased. But he always has answers.”
…
The little bell over the door chimed normally.
Everything else… didn’t.
Clark barely registered the warm lighting, the shelves lined with glossy covers, or the soft music playing from an old speaker. His breath was still caught in his chest—too tight, too fast, too aware.
That scent.
It was still there.
Not inside the shop.
On him. Clinging to his skin, his tongue, his mind.
An Omega.
Not just any Omega.
One his instinct didn’t know… but somehow recognized.
“Clark,” Chloe said, raising a brow as she picked up a comic from the shelf. “Are you even listening?”
Clark opened his mouth to answer—
but nothing came out.
His heart was still hammering wildly.
He gripped the edge of a collectible figurine box, the cardboard crumpling beneath his fingers.
Great. If he crushed it, he’d have to pay for it.
Chloe watched him more closely now, concern knitting her brows.
“Hey. What’s going on with you? You’re pale… and you’re shaking.”
Clark looked away, forcing a deep breath.
He couldn’t tell her the truth.
He couldn’t tell her that something inside him—something primal and feral—had roared awake the moment he saw him.
That boy.
Black on black.
Pale skin.
A fractured gaze.
A scent… soft but defiant.
Omega.
My Omega, whispered a voice that terrified him—
a voice that wasn’t his, and yet was entirely his.
Clark clenched his fists, trying to smother an instinct he didn’t know he possessed.
Since when did he react to anyone like this?
Chloe kept talking… but he couldn’t hear her.
He couldn’t hear anything.
Every muscle in his body was focused on not running outside, not looking through the window, not following that scent like an animal guided by instinct.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He pressed a hand against his chest, trying to anchor himself.
“Are you sure you’re not feeling sick?” Chloe insisted. “You’re really starting to worry me.”
Clark swallowed hard.
“I… I just…” he tried to say.
But the rest died in his throat when the bell chimed again behind them.
Another customer walked in.
For a heartbeat, his instinct lunged—roared—believing the Omega had returned.
Clark almost turned.
Almost.
But it wasn’t him.
The scent was still there, wrapped around him like a second skin, but the presence was only just outside.
Barely out of reach.
Still, his chest stayed tight.
Chloe set down the comic she’d been flipping through and moved closer when she noticed how Clark’s hands trembled. She knew him too well to pretend nothing was happening.
“Clark,” she murmured, crossing her arms and glancing out the large shop window. “Don’t tell me that boy caught your attention.”
Clark swallowed again, trying to smile naturally, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
It was obvious.
“N-no…” he stammered. “I think walking in the sun too long got to me.”
The blonde raised a single, unimpressed brow.
Clark Kent could spend three days under the sun with no water, no shade, and he’d still be bouncing with energy. The boy was basically a living solar panel.
“Right,” she said, giving him a playful tap on the arm. “Sure, meteorite-boy.”
Then she grinned mischievously and grabbed his forearm. “Come on. Let’s go get a closer look.”
“What? Chloe, wait—”
But she was already dragging him out of the shop with a trail of nervous laughter.
They crossed the street, feeling exposed, and stepped into the newly opened café—Talon Coffee’s brand-new competition.
Chloe didn’t wait even a second. She turned her head, not bothering to hide it, and she saw him.
Bruce was sitting by the window, the golden sunset casting a soft halo around him. Dressed in black from head to toe, elegant without trying. He was taking notes in a notebook, completely absorbed in his work.
Next to him, the older Alpha—Alfred—sipped his coffee with a serious, alert expression.
Chloe smiled.
Clark still hadn’t looked up from the menu, though he trembled slightly.
“He’s really cute,” the girl whispered, almost regretful.
Because even if she had accepted it, part of her heart was still attached to her best friend.
Clark’s hands tightened around the menu. The paper tore between his fingers before he even noticed.
He forced himself to breathe.
Not to turn.
Not to listen to that Alpha instinct roaring inside him: look at him, look at him, look at him.
But it was useless.
His gaze lifted for just a second.
And that second was enough.
Bruce looked up at the exact same moment, as if pulled by an invisible thread, his gray eyes locking directly with Clark’s blue ones.
Clark felt the world stop.
The air left his lungs.
His fangs prickled.
His winter-cold scent slipped out again—soft, involuntary.
Bruce didn’t notice…
but Alfred did. Again.
He looked up, and as soon as he did, his brow tightened.
That tall boy with the impossibly blue eyes stood only a few meters away, beside the blonde girl from earlier. He tried—and failed spectacularly—to pretend he was reading the shredded menu while his tense shoulders betrayed him.
Alfred scented him in that moment. He didn’t need anything else.
A young Alpha. Inexperienced… but definitely interested.
Not good.
Not safe.
And Bruce, of course, had no idea.
“Master Bruce,” Alfred murmured, leaning just enough so others wouldn’t hear. “We should leave. They’re… watching us too closely.”
Bruce frowned.
“Who?”
“It doesn’t matter who,” Alfred cut in softly—not harsh, but firm enough to end the subject. “The mission requires discretion. We cannot take unnecessary risks. Not here.”
Bruce sighed, resigned.
“Fine… I’ll gather my things.”
Just as he closed his notebook, he looked up.
And it happened.
Their eyes collided again.
A sharp blow to the chest. For both of them.
Clark felt the world shrink, all sound fading except for a heartbeat he wasn’t sure was his or the gray-eyed boy’s.
Bruce, without understanding why, felt a strange knot in his throat. Something that didn’t belong to him. Something that called to him without words.
Chloe watched the boy exhale and whispered:
“He really is attractive…” with a small smile.
Alfred stiffened as he sensed the boy’s scent trying to reach for his protected Omega.
He murmured, worried:
“We need to leave. Now.”
Bruce stood without arguing, though visibly confused. Alfred placed a protective hand on his shoulder and guided him calmly to the door.
Clark, moved by an impulse he couldn’t control, stepped forward.
But he knew that one more step… and he’d do something stupid.
When they passed by, Bruce’s shoulder nearly brushed his. Bruce didn’t notice.
Clark did.
As soon as the café door closed behind them, Clark felt his chest loosen as though he’d been holding his breath for minutes. He walked to the window without thinking and watched the older man—the one who had looked at him like a guardian sizing up a threat—open the door of a black limousine for the gray-eyed Omega.
Bruce climbed in first. Alfred followed.
The door shut.
And the car pulled away, disappearing down the street.
Clark exhaled like he’d been hit.
“Clark…” Chloe crossed her arms, tilting her head with a mix of concern and mischief. “Okay, what was that?”
He kept staring at the street, as if the limousine would suddenly reappear. He swallowed.
“N-nothing,” he lied, voice trembling. “I just… I don’t know. It wasn’t anything.”
Chloe let out a short laugh.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Chloe…” Clark lowered his gaze, ears flushing red. “I don’t even know him.”
“But you wanted to,” she replied, softer now. “I saw you. And he saw you too. Even if you looked too scared to move.”
Clark crushed the torn paper in his hands.
He couldn’t explain it. There was no scent, no logic… just a sudden emptiness when they left.
A ridiculous, primal need to follow him.
“It was just… weird. That’s all,” he muttered, not convincing himself at all.
Chloe watched him a moment longer, smiling with a tender sadness.
She didn’t push—but Clark knew she didn’t believe him one bit.
Inside the limousine
Bruce settled into the black leather seat, still uneasy. Trees rushed past the window, but his mind remained stuck on those blue eyes that had cut straight through him.
“Alfred,” he said at last. “What happened? You said we were drawing too much attention… why?”
The butler adjusted his gloves, glancing at the rearview mirror as if he could still sense the Alpha behind them.
“Because it was necessary to leave, Master Bruce. Discretion is essential for the mission to continue without complications.”
“I know that,” Bruce grumbled, arms crossed. “But… do you mean the boy at the entrance? The tall one?”
Alfred didn’t answer right away.
He couldn’t say he smelled like an Alpha imprinting on you.
Bruce wasn’t allowed to know any of that—not until Alfred decided he was ready.
“It was simply prudent,” he replied at last, voice neutral but weighted. “Nothing more.”
Bruce tilted his head, frustrated.
“You always do that.”
“I do it because it is my duty to protect you,” Alfred said, soft but firm. “And speaking of that, there is something we must clarify before we reach the rental house.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow.
Alfred folded his hands.
“Starting today, in this town, you and I will be… father and son.”
Bruce almost choked.
“What?”
“We cannot risk revealing our true identities. You must not use the name Wayne. And you must avoid forming deep connections with the locals. We need to remain unnoticed while we investigate what happened on the outskirts of the county.”
Bruce clenched his jaw.
“So I can’t even talk to people my age?”
“You may speak to them,” Alfred conceded. “But not get involved. Small town, Master Bruce. Everyone knows everyone. And the Luthors have eyes everywhere. We do not wish to attract the most dangerous family in the county.”
Bruce sighed and leaned back against the seat.
“Great… being antisocial was the only thing I was already good at.”
Alfred allowed a small smile—brief, gentle.
“That is precisely why I trust you will handle this mission without issue.”
Bruce was about to retort when a flash of blue crossed his mind.
The boy’s eyes.
That strange trembling in his chest.
That irrational urge to… get closer?
He shook his head to dispel it.
No time for distractions.
Especially not for a stranger who looked at him like he’d known him forever.
And yet…
His fingers tightened around his notebook.
And he didn’t know why his heart was beating so fast.
...
After that strange moment Clark had lived with that Omega, Chloe dragged him into the music store to buy something for her Walkman.
It seemed to work: talking about cassettes, bands, and sounds relaxed him a little… at least for a while.
But once he climbed into his parents’ truck, the silence came back to haunt him, along with his loud, restless mind that insisted on replaying the whole thing over and over.
And every time he glanced at his reflection in the window, those gray eyes were there.
He tried to shake it off by turning on the radio, searching for any song that could distract him.
It didn’t work.
When he reached the farm, he saw his mother Martha on the porch shaking out a tablecloth, and his father Jonathan watering the flowers by the steps.
Both looked up at the same time.
Clark barely parked before hopping out. He took three steps toward them when he caught his mother frowning.
“Sweetheart…” she said, using that soft voice that always held him together. “What happened? You have that look you get when you’re feeling weird… or when you’re trying to hide something.”
Jonathan crossed his arms, blunt as always.
“Problems with Chloe? Or did something happen in town?”
Clark stopped right in front of them. His ears felt hot.
It was ridiculous.
He couldn’t even explain it.
He pushed open the little wooden gate and, without another word, dropped onto the porch steps. He didn’t look at either of them directly.
He played with his Walkman, drawing circles with his thumb over the transparent lid, eyes fixed on the ground.
“It’s just…” he took a breath, feeling it lodge painfully in his chest. “There’s a new Omega in town.”
Martha’s eyes widened just a little.
Jonathan tilted his head, processing that in silence.
“And…?” his father finally asked. “Is it someone you talked to?”
Clark shook his head too fast, as if the truth might slip out if he gave himself a second to think.
He stared at the cover of the Blink classics tape Chloe had given him. His fingers trembled slightly against the plastic.
Martha exchanged a quick look with Jonathan—one of those silent parent looks that meant they already understood more than their child wanted to admit.
“Clark…” Martha sat beside him, wiping her hands on her apron before reaching out. “Honey, you’re pale. Are you feeling alright?”
“Yes, Mom,” he lied.
Jonathan leaned one hand on the porch railing, watching him with quiet patience.
“So… if you didn’t talk to him,” he said slowly, “why is the fact that he’s an Omega bothering you so much?”
Clark pressed his lips together.
His fingers curled around the portable cassette player, careful, almost protective.
“I don’t know. I just… I smelled him,” he swallowed, embarrassed even saying that out loud. “And since then I can’t stop thinking about him.”
Martha parted her lips slightly, surprised by his honesty.
Jonathan let out a soft sigh, the kind that meant he’d sort of expected this.
“Clark, that happens,” his father said gently, sincerely. “Sometimes when you meet someone—well, when you scent someone—they can leave an impression. Especially if they’re new. You don’t have to feel bad about that.”
He spoke with the calm, steady tone he used whenever something worried his son. It was a natural reaction for Clark to scent the new Omega, even if he himself was a Beta. Ever since they’d discovered Clark’s secondary gender, Jonathan had done everything he could to learn, to understand how Alpha instincts worked… even if his son was only just beginning to figure them out.
It wasn’t unusual for an Alpha to feel curiosity, attraction, or immediate interest toward a compatible Omega.
What was unusual… was the sheer intensity with which Clark had experienced it.
Jonathan knew that.
Clark knew it too.
Which was why Jonathan was trying so hard to soothe him.
Clark shook his head again, desperate.
“It’s not just that, Dad. I…” He rubbed his forehead. “When I saw him, it was like… like something grabbed my soul. Like I already knew him. I can’t explain it.”
Martha touched his arm gently.
“Honey, do you think… you like him?”
Clark’s heart lurched.
“I don’t know,” he whispered, hiding his face in his hands. “He didn’t even talk to me. He barely looked at me. He probably didn’t even notice I exist.”
Jonathan smiled with that peculiar Kent mix of tenderness and teasing.
“Clark, if you see him again…” he said, picking up the watering can once more, “give him a chance. Talk to him. Figure out if you actually like him or if he just caught your attention because he’s new.”
Then, more seriously:
“And if you do like him… I hope it goes better for you than it did with Lana.”
Clark grimaced.
Martha ran a gentle hand through his hair.
But he wasn’t really listening anymore.
His mind kept drifting back—to those gray eyes, to the Omega’s silence, to how little he’d looked at him… and how much he’d made Clark feel.
…
The limousine stopped in front of a wide, weathered wooden house.
Not the kind of place a Wayne lived in—but perfect for staying under the radar.
Bruce stepped out first, studying the façade with quiet focus. The air carried the scent of clean countryside, birds calling from the branches overhead.
He felt… far. Far from Gotham, far from the chaos, far from everything he knew.
Alfred opened the trunk, pulling out suitcases, boxes, instruments, and the reinforced old trunk where Bruce kept confidential files and his dark suit for missions.
“The radiation levels are considerably lower here,” Alfred remarked, holding up a Geiger counter as the needle barely flickered. “Which explains why this plot remained outside of LuthorCorp’s monitoring perimeter.”
Bruce nodded, picking up one of the heavier boxes and carrying it inside.
The house’s interior was small but warm: light wood, old windows. Bruce walked through it in silence, instinctively analyzing angles, entry points, and blind spots—skills carved into him after too many years of crisis.
He needed a secluded place to work.
His steps led him to a narrow door with a pull-string ladder. He tugged it down; the stairs unfolded with a groan.
The attic was dark, but spacious.
Dust floating in the beams of light from a tilted window; wooden beams curving like ribs; enough room to map routes, set up files, and think without interruption.
He set down his scrapbook, the reports on the Gotham explosion, the Haven files, and a large map of Smallville County.
Everything newly unpacked, everything waiting to be sorted.
He exhaled.
Another puzzle.
Another case begging for answers.
He still had to arrange it all, but tomorrow the investigation would truly begin.
...
The sound of crickets filled the tall green grass.
Night had settled over the Kent farm, covering the fields in a calm that should have soothed him.
But Clark lay on his back, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling like answers might carve themselves into the plaster.
The fan hummed lazily.
Crick, crick, crick.
His heart was louder than all of it.
He tried thinking about summer plans with his friends, maybe even checking college brochures online to see if any managed to convince him to apply.
But every time he closed his eyes, he saw the same face.
Pale skin.
Black clothes.
Grey eyes.
An Omega.
His Omega—
No.
No.
He couldn’t think like that.
Clark grabbed the sheets with both hands.
“Dad’s probably right…” he whispered, almost like an attempt to hypnotize himself. “He just caught my attention because he’s new. That’s it.”
He tried to believe it.
It didn’t work.
He rolled toward the window, staring out at the dark fields.
Maybe tomorrow, when he saw him somewhere else, the effect would disappear.
Maybe his instincts were just… exaggerating.
Or maybe—
Clark shut his eyes tightly, as if he could shut down the feeling.
As if he could shut down the memory of that scent.
His fangs had tingled.
That never happened.
“This isn’t a love story,” he murmured, voice cracking a little. “It can’t be.”
But his chest disagreed.
Miles away, Bruce Wayne was building a criminal investigation wall.
The attic was wide, dusty, and silent. Exactly what he needed.
He had spread papers, photos, clippings, and maps everywhere.
Red threads connected the key points on the map of Smallville County:
LUTHORCORP
DISAPPEARANCES
INDIAN HILL
RADIOACTIVE WASTE
“RELOCATED” WORKERS
ANOMALOUS ACTIVITY SINCE 2001
Bruce pinned each document with practiced precision, analyzing every clue he had.
The yellow attic light cast a sharp shadow over his face.
Another page.
And another.
And another.
Bruce took a slow breath, his hands resting on the edge of the wooden table.
“I didn’t come here to make friends,” he murmured, scanning the wall.
“Much less to get distracted.”
But the fleeting image of the boy from the café crossed his mind without warning.
Just a second.
Just an involuntary thought.
Bruce forced it out of his head immediately.
He grabbed a black marker and wrote at the top:
“Point of Origin of the Anomaly.”
And while Clark, miles away, tried to convince himself he wasn’t stepping into a love story…
Bruce was insisting the opposite:
“This is a detective story. Nothing more.”
…
The sun was barely rising when Clark opened his eyes.
After a long night, he had finally managed to fall asleep.
Golden light flooded the room, warm and gentle.
He got up quietly, pulled on a white T-shirt, blue jacket, and worn-out jeans, then hurried downstairs to help his father.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Martha greeted warmly, kissing his cheek. “I made an apple pie for when you get back.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Clark said with a soft smile.
Jonathan came in through the back door, dusting off his work gloves.
“Son, give me a hand with the crates. We need to get the vegetables to the market before it gets late.”
Clark nodded immediately.
The moment Jonathan turned around, Clark used his super-speed to stack all the crates neatly in the truck bed.
If his father saw him, he’d get a lecture… but carrying fifty kilos of produce at normal speed sounded impossible at that hour.
When Jonathan came out and saw everything done, he sighed—a sound more affectionate than annoyed.
“Clark…” he shook his head, though a smile broke through. “One day you’ll have to stop using your powers for regular chores.”
Clark only shrugged and hopped into the truck.
They drove down the dirt road as the sun rose behind the corn fields.
Town was livelier than usual: stalls opening, the smell of fresh bread, the murmuring of locals beginning their day.
Jonathan parked near the market and began unloading crates.
“I’ll start with the buyers,” he said. “Can you bring me the big bags from the back?”
Clark nodded—
But he didn’t move.
That scent drifted through the air again.
His head whipped around instinctively.
And then he saw him.
The Omega.
The boy from the limousine, reading the newspaper at the storefront across the street.
Light hit his dark hair just right.
He looked like he didn’t belong in Smallville at all—
a piece of shadow placed in a town full of warm colors.
Clark felt his stomach drop.
His fangs tingled.
His pupils widened.
His heart thundered violently.
Not even super-speed could have carried him away from that feeling.
“No…” he whispered to himself. “…it can’t be.”
But his feet were already moving.
Without thinking.
Without planning.
Without breathing.
Before he even realized it, he was standing inside the editorial shop.
The clerk smiled at him.
“Looking for a summer job, Kent?” he joked.
Clark let out an awkward laugh, grabbing the first newspaper he saw.
Then he risked a glance.
Bruce was reading the local paper, a slight crease between his brows as he scanned an article about mineral extraction from Crater Lake.
He was dressed simply: a dark blue shirt with rolled sleeves, black pants, and that quiet, elegant, slightly gothic energy of someone who did not come from Smallville.
His features were… too much to ignore.
Dark hair falling over his forehead.
A sharp jawline for someone so young.
Eyes that analyzed everything.
Omega aura tucked behind iron discipline.
Clark swallowed hard.
He had no idea what to do.
His instincts roared.
His logic fled.
Bruce flipped the page, completely indifferent.
Indifferent to everything.
Indifferent to the nearly six-foot giant standing half a meter away, pretending not to shake.
Clark almost choked when he saw him up close.
He inhaled deeply, trying to focus on the blurry text of the paper.
Maybe…
Maybe he could try talking to him.
Something casual. Something normal.
Something that didn’t make him sound like an Alpha starving for attention.
He cleared his throat.
“Hm… interesting…” he muttered, pretending he cared about the article.
Bruce didn’t move.
Not even a blink.
Clark wanted to die.
Very subtle. A master of flirting.
A movement caught his eye—
Bruce folding the newspaper and pulling out a black notebook filled with notes, maps, dates…
Definitely not schoolwork.
And he did it so… attractively.
Clark stared.
Then, as if fate took pity on him, Bruce lifted his gaze.
Right at him.
Those grey eyes cut straight through him.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Clark felt himself falling apart.
But Bruce…
Bruce simply frowned once he realized why a gigantic boy was pretending to read the paper upside down.
And Clark…
Clark smiled without meaning to.
A tiny smile.
Shy, clumsy, soft.
But Bruce quickly looked away—cold, guarded… and unfairly beautiful.
“Clark?” Jonathan called from the market stall. “Son, I need the bags!”
Clark blinked, snapping back to reality.
“Y-yeah! Coming!” he called back, still trembling.
Before leaving, he looked once more at the boy.
But Bruce… was already walking away, slipping the notebook into a dark briefcase, moving with that mix of elegance and discipline that seemed carved into him.
Clark followed him with his eyes like his soul was being dragged behind.
He watched him head toward the local library.
Bruce walked forward, still flipping through the folded newspaper, mentally reviewing what he’d found in the article about Crater Lake.
It wasn’t just a local story.
It was a lead.
“Unusual deposits of metamorphic fragments… presence of an unidentified mineral… possible undeclared industrial intervention.”
Bruce clenched his jaw, heading toward the library with more urgency than he meant to show.
Alfred stayed outside buying fresh groceries, insisting he would prepare something decent to eat for the week.
The moment Bruce walked in, he headed straight for the historical archives. He found the section on Crater Lake, but most of the volumes were on the highest shelf.
Even so, he stretched his hand out, trying to reach them.
“Do you want me to help you?” a soft voice came from behind him.
Bruce barely turned. Clark was right there. Too close. Tall. Smiling.
Without waiting for an answer, Clark pulled the highest book down and handed it to him. Bruce took it with a minimal gesture.
“Thanks,” he said.
Nothing more.
He turned away again, opening the volume as if the Alpha’s presence didn’t matter at all.
But for Clark…
For Clark, that “thanks” felt like a proposal of marriage.
His heart hit so hard he almost knocked down the entire shelf.
And before he could think —because Clark always acted before thinking— he was already talking again.
“Where are you from?” he blurted— “Are you from Metropolis? Are you traveling? What’s your name? Do you like Smallville? Do you want me to show you around? I know the whole town! Well, almost… Crater Lake, is that what you’re researching? We could go swim there, it’s beautiful, the view is incredible, I promise you’d like it…”
Bruce lifted his gaze just a little.
One second.
One blink.
Nothing more.
And he went back to reading, as if the most handsome, brightest, and most annoyingly insistent Alpha in this whole cursed town wasn’t desperately trying to get his attention.
Clark swallowed hard, suddenly feeling stupid.
Normally, Alphas, Omegas, and Betas —of any gender— sought him out. It was always the same: smiles, comments, long stares. He was Clark Kent, after all.
But this Omega…
This Omega ignored him.
Or worse: pretended he didn’t exist.
“So… do you want to go swimming?” he tried again.
“Or I could show you the Talon Café… or downtown… or—”
Bruce turned a page.
Not even a glance.
Clark felt his ego crack like glass.
It was ridiculous how badly he wanted this Omega to respond to him.
Because there was something about him… something dark, serious, quiet…
Something that made Clark want to get closer.
Made him want to overflow.
Bruce turned another page, trying to ignore the shadow that hovered over him.
But finally, he looked up.
Serious.
Cold.
Clark smiled at him, dimples showing.
And seeing his face again… he felt like he had a chance.
A ridiculous one.
A tiny one.
But a chance.
“I’m Clark. Clark Kent.”
Bruce raised a brow. Barely.
Clark swallowed.
“And you…?” he smiled softly. “What’s your name?”
Bruce stared at him a few seconds, as if calculating what percentage of idiot this Alpha was.
“Bruce.”
The name hit Clark’s chest like a clean, sharp blow. Almost euphoric.
“What brought you to Smallville?” Clark asked, trying to sound casual while dying inside. “Visiting family? Vacation?”
Bruce could feel the Alpha’s energy buzzing.
Too intense.
Too kind.
Too obvious.
“Vacation,” he replied coldly.
Clark nodded, still completely smitten.
“Are you… seventeen?” he asked, tilting his head with that curious expression Bruce already found irritating.
Bruce stared at him like the question was absurd.
“Yes.”
Clark let out a small, nervous laugh, trying to break the tension. Bruce studied him, weighed the insistence in his eyes, and decided to throw a comment sharp enough to make him leave.
“You don’t look like you’re seventeen.
You look like someone who got out of a seventeen-year divorce… or prison.”
Clark blinked.
His brain needed a second.
“I like your sense of humor.”
Bruce stared at him, baffled.
“That wasn’t a joke,” he corrected, flat.
“I know,” Clark replied, still smiling, making it even more unbearable.
Because if Clark had anything, it was that he didn’t know how to give up.
Or read the room.
Or take a hint.
Bruce closed the book with precision, taking a breath as if collecting whatever patience he had left.
Clark watched him like every micro-gesture was art.
Like Bruce was the most important discovery of his life.
And Bruce, for a moment, got lost in that smile.
“Bruce.”
Alfred’s deep, perfectly controlled and dangerously polite voice echoed from the entrance.
Bruce and Clark turned at the same time.
Alfred stood there, one hand on the doorframe, posture impeccable, gaze fixed on Clark like he was assessing him down to the last cell.
And when his eyes settled on the Alpha, something in his expression hardened.
He recognized him instantly.
The boy from the previous afternoon.
The one who’d reacted too strongly to his young master’s scent.
“Son,” Alfred said deliberately, protectively— “It’s time to go.”
Bruce frowned slightly at the emphasis, but understood the message:
This Alpha is a risk. We’re leaving.
He closed the book and began walking out, ready to go without saying goodbye.
But Clark stepped forward, voice jumping out before he could stop it.
“Hey…” he swallowed, nervous, intense— “If… if you ever need to reach me… you can ask for the Kents. Everyone knows where we live.”
Bruce froze for a moment.
Clark continued, like his life depended on that Omega listening:
“I can show you the town. The whole town, if you want. The lake, the Talon, the trails… —” he laughed softly— “I’m a good guide. And, well… if you’re here on vacation, I could help you… not get bored.”
Bruce looked at him with the same expression someone gives a huge puppy that wandered into the house without permission:
confused, and entirely unimpressed.
“I’m not looking for a guide,” Bruce said, sharp, though less aggressive than before. More… tired.
Clark lowered his gaze slightly, but his smile didn’t vanish.
If anything, it softened.
“Still… if you change your mind.”
Alfred spoke up, firm, polite, and edged with warning:
“My son won’t be needing anything, young man. Good morning.”
Clark inhaled.
Bruce felt the atmosphere tighten.
And before Clark could say another word, Alfred was already guiding him toward the exit with that look that said don’t look back.
Clark, however, did look back.
He watched them until they disappeared through the door.
Until he couldn’t hear their steps anymore.
And even then…
He could still feel that little Omega carved into his mind.
...
The limousine had barely moved a few meters away from the library when Alfred, sitting beside him, let out a sigh far too long to be casual.
Bruce ignored it at first.
Or tried to.
Because Alfred had that natural talent for making anyone feel like they were committing a crime simply by breathing.
“Very well,” Pennyworth said at last, with that measured, calm tone that always came before a serious lecture.
“I believe this is an appropriate moment to discuss basic security protocols.”
Bruce leaned his forehead against the window, eyes fixed on the rural landscape of Smallville.
“I didn’t do anything,” he muttered, crossing his arms.
“You did far too much,” Alfred corrected with absolute certainty. “That young Alpha was seconds away from collapsing on top of you. If you’ll allow the expression: he looked like an overly excited… oversized dog.”
Bruce clenched his jaw.
“He was just being annoying.”
“No, Master Bruce. He was being interested.
And I would very much prefer you not attract the attention of any Alpha in a town where we are attempting to remain unnoticed.”
Bruce slowly turned his head, frowning at him.
“I didn’t provoke him.”
“I’m aware,” Alfred admitted patiently. “You merely exist. And apparently, that is enough.”
Bruce felt a strange heat rise to his face.
Not a blush. He didn’t blush.
It was… irritation.
Yes. Irritation.
“Besides,” Alfred continued, more serious, “we do not know if that young man could become an obstacle to our investigation. I do not like how that Alpha’s presence affected you.”
Bruce blinked, confused.
“It didn’t affect me,” he replied automatically.
Alfred raised a single eyebrow.
“Truly? For a moment I thought you were going to turn to stone under his gaze. Worse than when you faced Ra’s al Ghul.”
Bruce looked down at his lap.
“He’s just… intense.”
“Precisely. An intense, impulsive, reckless Alpha… and one who is now curious about you.
It is the last thing we need.”
Bruce said nothing.
Because deep down, a small part of him knew Alfred was right.
But another part—small, uncomfortable, irritating—remembered the Alpha’s expression when he said his name.
Remembered the way those blue eyes lit up as if he’d said something meaningful.
Bruce pressed his lips together, forcing the thought away.
Alfred sighed again, softer this time.
“Master Bruce… focus.
We require absolute discretion.”
Bruce nodded, recovering his cold tone.
“I know.”
“Then avoid speaking to Alphas who look as though they might bite you the moment you decide to smile at them,” Alfred concluded.
Bruce huffed, looking out the window.
“I didn’t smile at him.”
“And yet he reacted as if you had.”
Bruce sank a little deeper into the seat.
And though he would never admit it…
Deep down—very deep down—
That Alpha had been a problem.
And he might continue to be one.
Not even with Selina or Jeremiah had he ever felt so exposed, so observed, as if that blue-eyed Alpha had seen something beneath every layer of sarcasm and distance.
And Bruce hated it.
He hated feeling like that.
Notes:
Thank you so much for your comments. I’m really happy you’re enjoying this fanfic and this universe. I truly appreciate every message you leave.
See you in the next chapter! 🦇🌿
Chapter Text
Clark stepped out of the library almost floating.
Actually floating.
He had to force his feet against the ground to keep himself from lifting even an inch, his powers buzzing restlessly under his skin. He barely had control over some of them-but flying? That was still a problem. And he couldn't understand why, of all moments, his body suddenly felt like it wanted to take off.
It was ridiculous.
It was beautiful.
It was him, whenever something excited him too much.
Bruce.
That Omega.
He had talked to his Omega.
Not well. Not smoothly. Not like a normal person-but he had done it. Bruce had seen him. Looked at him. Answered him. And even though the boy had been cold and sharp, Clark found it... beautiful. Perfect.
And that alone was enough to make his heart race in ways he didn't fully understand.
He crossed the street toward where his dad was stacking the empty crates back into the truck. Jonathan watched him approach with that familiar soft smile-one Clark only ever wore for two reasons: when he'd won a game... or when he was completely, hopelessly smitten.
"Everything okay, son?" Jonathan asked, raising an eyebrow as he lifted another crate.
Clark leaned against the truck bed with a dramatic sigh.
"He was there. The Omega I smelled," he said, unable to contain the excitement. "His name's Bruce. And... I talked to him." He paused, chest swelling just admitting it. "Well. Kind of."
Jonathan smiled calmly.
"I saw him." He tightened one of the straps on the truck. "And I saw his guardian, too. That man seems... very protective."
Clark shook his head quickly.
"He's not an obstacle."
Jonathan gave him the patient look of a father who knew exactly what kind of son he had-and loved him anyway.
"I didn't say he was an obstacle, Clark. I just said that..." He trailed off, noticing the way his son's blue eyes were shining. "New Omegas usually have reasons to keep their distance. And if that man protects him like that... he's probably been through something."
Clark pressed his lips together, stubborn.
"It doesn't matter." He crossed his arms, determined. "I'm going to do everything I can to get to know him. My Alpha-" He touched his chest, as if he could feel something stirring there. "-my Alpha won't stop pushing. And it's not just his scent, Dad. It's... him. Bruce is... different."
Jonathan watched him quietly. That my Alpha still hit him every time-his son was still learning how to live with that part of himself.
"Son," Jonathan said gently, "you don't have to impress him. You don't have to prove anything."
But Clark looked at him-open, sincere, vulnerable.
"I do, actually," he admitted softly. "I want to learn how to control my powers... because I don't want to scare him."
He lowered his gaze.
"When I'm near him... I feel like I could break everything without meaning to."
Jonathan took a deep breath, then gave him a firm pat on the shoulder.
"Then what you need to do isn't chase the boy."
Clark looked up, confused.
"What you need to do is learn how to control yourself. That's the first step to getting close to anyone." He smiled. "And if fate wants it... that Bruce will cross paths with you again."
Clark smiled, hope bright in his eyes.
"He's going to cross paths with me all summer, Dad." His voice was soft, certain, trembling slightly with excitement. "And all I want is to... court him."
Jonathan wasn't sure whether to worry or feel moved.
Probably both.
It was strange hearing Clark talk about courting. That was something Alphas usually said when they were ready to lay foundations, to build something serious.
But then again... this was Clark. He was seventeen, after all.
...
The limousine came to a smooth stop in front of the rented house, the brakes whispering softly.
Bruce hadn't said a word during the entire drive. The subject of the Alpha had been left hanging in the air-deliberately ignored, like so many other things he preferred not to name.
The driver opened the trunk, and Bruce stepped out immediately, helping Alfred with the grocery bags. There was no rush, but there was a controlled stillness to his movements.
Alfred thanked the driver, while Bruce hurried to unlock the front door, stepping inside with quiet care.
He set the bags down on the old sideboard as Alfred began unpacking in the kitchen-vegetables wrapped in paper, cuts of meat, bread, small cartons of berries. Alfred moved with methodical precision, washing produce carefully, separating the meat.
Bruce lingered nearby in silence, as if his presence itself didn't want to interrupt anything.
Only the soft sounds of movement as he opened his briefcase and reviewed the information inside.
"Bruce..." Alfred said at last, without looking at him. "I'm sorry for being so overprotective."
Bruce picked a blueberry from the bowl Alfred had just washed and brought it to his mouth, chewing slowly.
"You don't have to apologize."
Alfred kept arranging the groceries, but his voice softened. "I've known you since the day you were born. And..." He paused, brief and measured. "You're the only family I have left."
Bruce set the bowl aside and looked at him.
"I know," he replied quietly. "And you're mine."
Alfred nodded, as if those words steadied something in the world.
Bruce picked up the newspaper again, rereading the article about Crater Lake. Minerals. Anomalies. Names that explained nothing. His eyes moved quickly-focused, sharp.
Alfred watched him from across the kitchen. He hesitated, drying his hands on a cloth. He didn't like prying, but something else had been weighing on him.
"Bruce..." he said, uncertain now. "Yesterday, while I was unpacking your things... I found a bottle."
Bruce didn't look up. Alfred leaned slightly against the counter, concern etched into his posture.
"Scent suppressants. Since when have you been taking them?" he asked, exhaling slowly.
Bruce glanced at him for a brief moment, then returned his gaze to the newspaper.
"For about a week."
Alfred closed his eyes for a second.
"You're far too young for that."
Bruce folded the paper carefully and set it aside.
"I want to erase my scent," he said evenly. "I want to stop being an Omega."
Alfred shook his head slowly, worry no longer restrained.
"It's not that simple."
"It never is," Bruce replied, cold but not defiant. "Nothing ever is."
Silence settled over the kitchen again-heavy, tight.
Alfred went back to his vegetables.
Bruce returned to his investigation.
But they both knew that something was wrong now... and neither of them knew how to fix it without breaking something in the process.
Alfred, restless, set the knife down on the cutting board.
The sharp sound cut through the silence.
"There is nothing wrong with you being an Omega, Bruce."
Bruce clenched his jaw.
"There is," he said without looking at him. "My parents thought I'd be a Beta... or an Alpha. Like them."
He closed the briefcase in his lap with a controlled, quiet thud.
"It was always like that. The looks. The expectations. What I was supposed to be."
Alfred took half a step toward him, but Bruce spoke again before he could.
"And don't tell me it doesn't matter," he raised his voice just slightly. "You don't get to say that. You're an Alpha. You don't know what it's like to have your scent betray you. You don't know what it's like to be seen as fragile before you even open your mouth."
Alfred didn't answer right away.
He looked at him with those tired eyes that had seen empires fall and secrets buried.
"Maybe I don't understand it," he said at last. "But I do know this."
Bruce looked at him, tense.
"You are not an Omega like the others."
Bruce frowned. "And that's supposed to make me feel better?"
"No," Alfred admitted. "It's supposed to remind you why I taught you how to defend yourself. How to fight. How not to let your guard down."
He stepped closer. "I didn't do it so you'd be ashamed of who you are. I did it because this world isn't kind-especially not to someone like you."
Bruce looked away.
For just a second-only one-something fractured in his eyes.
"I don't want them to see me like that," he murmured. "I don't want to be weak."
Alfred leaned in slightly.
"Weakness doesn't come from gender, boy. It comes from giving up."
He looked at him with quiet pride. "And you... have never given up, my son."
Bruce didn't answer.
But something in his shoulders eased-just a little.
Barely.
Enough.
He took another blueberry from the bowl, but he wasn't hungry anymore.
The sweetness tasted distant. Almost irritating.
He turned slightly, resting one hand on the counter, his gaze drifting to the window that looked out over the fields, painted endless shades of green.
Travel.
The idea had been forming in his mind for a while now.
"That's why I'm leaving," Bruce finally said, quietly.
Alfred looked up. "Leaving... where?"
Bruce swallowed. "Anywhere. Everywhere. Somewhere I can learn to fight better. To endure. To stop depending on anyone."
His fingers curled into a fist.
"Gotham taught me many things," he went on, "but not enough."
He remembered wet alleyways, Selina's voice and laughter shouting at him about balance on rooftops.
He remembered the orphaned kids-always surviving.
He remembered Jeremiah... and what happens when someone lets themselves be consumed by what they think they are.
"I'm not going to give up," Bruce continued. "I won't let myself be trapped by what people expect of me. If I'm an Omega... then I'll be one that can't be broken."
Alfred remained silent.
That heavy silence that only appeared when he recognized something inevitable.
"Your father thought the same way," Alfred said at last. "Not running... but preparing."
Bruce lifted his gaze. "Then you understand."
Alfred nodded slowly. "I do. But you don't have to prove yourself by being harder than the world."
"Yes, I do," Bruce replied, with a conviction far too steady for a seventeen-year-old. "Because no one is going to protect me forever."
Alfred studied him for a long moment.
Small. Hurt. And already dangerously determined.
"Then," he said gravely, "if you're going to leave... you'll do it properly. With discipline. With purpose. Not like a child running away."
Bruce held his gaze. "I'm not a child."
Alfred sighed, resigned. "I know. That's exactly the problem."
Bruce looked back at the abandoned newspaper on the table.
The lake.
The minerals.
Loose pieces of something much bigger.
He was going to do it all for his city. All of it.
Even if that meant leaving behind what it meant to be an Omega.
...
It was midday.
Clark returned to the farm with his father, a smile he couldn't wipe off his face.
The dirt road stretched out ahead of the truck, green and golden fields unfolding as they always had-but everything felt different now. Lighter. As if the world itself had decided to align just because he'd exchanged more than two sentences with that Omega.
Jonathan parked near the barn and climbed out first.
"Go eat," he said in that practical farmer's tone. "You haven't had anything since early this morning."
Clark shook his head immediately, still wearing that bright, almost distracted expression.
"I'm not hungry, Dad. I'm fine. Really."
Jonathan eyed him suspiciously. Clark Kent not being hungry was... concerning.
Well-sort of. Clark ate more out of sheer enthusiasm than actual hunger.
His body didn't even need something as basic as food.
Before Jonathan could say anything else, a Golden Retriever came running toward them, barking happily, tail wagging like it was about to take flight.
"Hey, Shelby," Clark laughed, crouching down to greet him.
The dog jumped up on him, and Clark hugged him without thinking, burying his face in the warm fur as a long sigh escaped him-the kind you can't fake.
He stretched, grabbed his Walkman from the seat, slipped on his headphones, and let I'm With You by Avril Lavigne fill that strange, beautiful noise in his head.
Bruce.
The serious Omega. Quiet. Cold. And absolutely fascinating.
Clark dropped down onto the grass, Shelby settling beside him, as he closed his eyes for just a second. His body felt like it was packed with energy-itching to run, to fly, to do something... anything.
"Easy," he murmured to himself, breathing deeply. "Control, Clark. Control."
He thought about how close he'd come to breaking a bookshelf in the library. About how hard his heart had been pounding. About how easy it would be to scare him without meaning to.
He didn't want that.
Not with him.
He opened his eyes, staring up at the Kansas-blue sky.
"I'm going to do this right," he promised softly. "I'm going to control my powers. For me... and for him."
Shelby licked his cheek, as if approving.
Clark smiled, slipping one earphone off to scratch behind the dog's ears.
"I know," he laughed. "It sounds stupid, right?"
But it didn't feel stupid.
It felt right.
Clark wasn't in a hurry.
Just... waiting.
...
The attic was shrouded in half-light.
Several hours after his conversation with Alfred, Bruce had decided to come upstairs to run a few simulation tests. Something had been bothering him ever since he started digging into the town's history.
He sat on the floor, his back pressed against the wall, legs crossed in front of an improvised board assembled from maps, clippings, and documents.
Only the bluish glow of the portable screen broke the darkness, casting long shadows across the old wooden beams.
Codes.
Graphs.
Waves.
The simulation progressed line by line.
"Environmental radiation: stable," he murmured, typing rapidly.
"Irregular spike in the urban area... direct correlation with Crater Lake..."
His fingers moved across the keyboard with practiced precision. The interface-one he had designed himself-displayed an overlay of Smallville's map alongside radiation readings compared across different years.
"This isn't natural," he whispered. "It's residual... and targeted."
He adjusted a parameter, and the simulation recalculated. The map highlighted the town's bodies of water one by one, each flagged as contaminated.
He would have to check them all: Reeves Dam, Crater Lake, Lemaris Pond, Hob's Pond... even the river running alongside the LuthorCorp plant-the Elbow River.
Comparing samples would be a start.
And after that-why not infiltrate the company itself and see what the hell was really going on inside?
Everyone in Smallville believed the Luthor company was nothing more than an agricultural business, but Bruce was certain it was just a front.
The pattern couldn't be a coincidence. Not in a town this small.
And then his mind-traitorous-drifted without permission.
An awkward smile.
A voice far too honest.
A massive guy pretending to read a newspaper... upside down.
Bruce clenched his jaw.
Focus.
He turned his attention back to the screen.
But the image wouldn't fade.
Clark's blue eyes.
The way he had leaned in-not intrusive, almost tentative, as if he didn't quite know how to close the distance.
The impulse... overwhelming. Raw. Uncomfortable.
An Alpha.
Bruce frowned, irritated with himself.
"Idiot," he muttered, unsure who the insult was meant for.
He adjusted another variable with more force than necessary. The keyboard let out a sharp, brittle sound.
Dangerous, he thought.
Not because he was an Alpha.
But because of what he stirred.
Bruce swallowed, a faint tingling crawling up the back of his neck. Suppressed. Controlled. Forced into dormancy by the inhibitors circulating through his bloodstream.
And still...
"He has no idea what he's getting himself into," he thought quietly.
The simulation finished processing. A red dot flared over Crater Lake.
Bruce leaned forward, fully focused once more.
"There you are," he whispered.
But before he could log the result, his gaze lingered for a second on the dark reflection of the screen-and he saw something completely out of place.
A nervous laugh.
An unhesitating I like your sense of humor.
A stubbornness that was almost... sweet.
Bruce squeezed his eyes shut.
No.
This wasn't a love story.
This wasn't the summer for distractions.
Smallville wasn't a refuge.
It was a crime scene under an open sky.
He inhaled deeply, forcing his composure back into place.
"Focus," he ordered himself. "This is an investigation."
Yet even as he saved the data and marked new hypotheses across the map, an intrusive, irritating, persistent thought slipped in without asking permission:
That Alpha... is going to cross my path again.
Bruce shut the screen off with a sharp click.
"No," he said softly, almost like a challenge.
But his traitorous heart skipped-just for a second longer than it should have.
...
Somewhere between excitement and routine, the sun had disappeared hours ago, and the Kent house was wrapped in that calm silence that only settles in when the countryside loses its wind.
Clark was lying face-down on his bed.
His arms were wrapped around the pillow, giving it small, rhythmic taps-thump... thump-as if that alone might help him organize the chaos in his head.
"Great, Clark," he muttered into the fabric. "Out of all the powers in the world... where do I even start?"
He sighed.
"Okay," he murmured. "If I'm going to get control of myself... I need a plan."
He grabbed an old school notebook, a pen with a chewed-up cap, and sat on the edge of the bed. The page stayed blank for barely a second before he wrote in big, uneven letters:
THINGS I CAN CONTROL (MORE OR LESS)
Below it, he started listing.
✔ Super strength
He'd learned how to measure it... most of the time. He didn't break doors by accident anymore. Or tables.
Well. Almost never.
✔ Super speed
He knew how to stop. How to start. How not to vanish in front of people. That counted as progress.
✔ Super hearing
He could shut it off. It wasn't easy, but he could. He no longer heard literally all of Smallville at once.
✔ Super durability
That one basically came pre-installed.
Clark nodded to himself, a little proud.
That wasn't so bad.
Then he swallowed and wrote another title-smaller... but more honest.
THINGS I DON'T CONTROL VERY WELL
✘ Flight
He made a face.
"I don't even know if I fly... it just happens when I get emotional. But I think I do?"
✘ Emotional strength
Every time he felt something too strongly... something broke. Never a good sign.
✘ Heat vision
That one was the worst.
It never showed up when he needed it-only when he was angry, scared... or way too worked up.
✘ X-ray vision
He wasn't a pervert, but he always ended up accidentally seeing past girls' necklines, and that was horrible.
He absolutely could not allow such an atrocity.
✘ Impulses
He stared at that last word longer than necessary.
Bruce. Library. Looks. Racing heartbeat.
Clark let the pen fall onto the bed and ran a hand through his hair.
He sighed.
"So... how do I even train all of this?"
He stood up and paced around his room, restless. Tried taking deep breaths, like his mom always told him. Counted to ten. To twenty.
Nothing.
He leaned out the window, looking at the open fields behind the house, and thought:
Maybe if I run. Maybe if I jump. Maybe if I focus...
But it was useless.
He dropped back onto the bed, staring at the list.
He pressed the notebook against his chest and smiled faintly, determination settling in.
"I'll learn," he said quietly. "Even if I fall. Even if I crash. Even if I have no idea what I'm doing."
He laughed to himself. "I mean... very on brand for me."
Because if he was going to court that serious, quiet Omega-dangerous to his concentration-he couldn't afford to lose control.
Not this time.
Not with Bruce.
He let his full weight fall onto the mattress, and the wood creaked in a very concerning way.
Clark froze when a loud crack echoed through the room. The bed split in half, leaving him stranded among broken boards.
"Just what I needed," he whispered guiltily.
He scrambled up immediately, trying to straighten the mattress, smooth the sheets, reposition the pillow as if nothing had happened. It was pointless-the bed was completely destroyed.
"Clark?" Martha's voice called from the hallway.
Clark swallowed, then walked downstairs stiffly-too straight, too rigid. Jonathan and Martha exchanged a look; they knew that nervous smile well.
"Everything okay, son?" Jonathan asked.
"Yeah. Totally fine," Clark said way too fast. "I'm just... uh... going to take a little walk. With Shelby."
As if on cue, the dog appeared, tail wagging enthusiastically, thrilled to be included in any plan.
Martha frowned slightly.
"At this hour?"
"It'll help me think," Clark replied, grabbing the leash from the hook. "I promise I won't go far."
Jonathan watched him for a few more seconds, assessing. Then he nodded.
"Don't be long."
Clark nodded back as he grabbed his blue jacket from the back of the couch. He stepped outside almost immediately, the night air hitting his face. He walked a few steps, clipped the leash on, and Shelby took off across the grass, dragging him along.
The strength of his super-dog pulled him farther out, toward the cornfields.
Clark stopped. Looked up at the sky. The stars were especially bright that night. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then glanced back toward his parents' house.
He was scared-and at the same time, deeply embarrassed by what he was about to do.
"It's okay," he told himself. "I'm going to try."
The dog barked, watching him closely. Clark unclipped the leash and petted Shelby.
"Alright. You might judge me, but at least you can't laugh at me," he whispered.
He crouched, focusing. He felt his body vibrate from the inside, as if every fiber were charged with a force he never quite knew how to shut off.
He bent his knees.
Jumped.
Way too hard.
Barely pushed off-and suddenly he was several meters up, his heart leaping into his throat.
"No, no, no-!"
He slammed back down, feet digging into the ground. The impact left a small crater in the grass.
Shelby barked excitedly, convinced it was a game.
Clark stayed still, breathing fast.
"Okay... definitely not like that."
He looked at his hands. Clenched them into fists, then relaxed them. Exhaled, and thought about a normal life.
"If I want to get closer to Bruce..." he murmured, "I have to learn not to break the world first."
He lifted his gaze to the sky again and jumped a second time.
"For you," he whispered, almost embarrassed-by the words, and by how ridiculous he felt for saying them at all.
...
Alfred climbed up to the attic carefully, carrying a simple tray: hot soup, bread, and a cup of tea. The moment he stepped inside, the contrast was almost ridiculous compared to the space Bruce had turned into a war room.
Maps pinned to the walls. Newspaper clippings. Graphs projected from an open laptop. And a Geiger counter, vibrating with a low but persistent click.
"You should eat something, sir," Alfred said, setting the tray aside. "You haven't stopped since we came back from the market."
Bruce didn't even look up.
"Something's wrong," he replied flatly. "Very wrong."
Alfred stayed where he was, watching him.
"The radiation?"
Bruce nodded and finally turned, gesturing toward the screen.
"Smallville wasn't radioactive before the meteor shower. There were residues, yes-isolated hotspots-but what we're seeing now doesn't add up."
He zoomed in on the map.
"There are three distinct zones," he continued.
"The first is the active zone-where the meteors hit and where the rain fell. Radiation there is unstable, almost chaotic.
The second..." He pointed to another ring. "...is the contaminated zone. Farms, lakes, wooded areas. Radiation shouldn't still be present after all these years-but it's increasing.
And then there's the town."
Alfred frowned.
"Downtown?"
"Exactly," Bruce said. "It should be the cleanest area. And it isn't."
He curled his fingers against the table.
"The radiation is being redistributed."
Alfred felt a chill.
"Intentionally?"
Bruce shook his head slowly.
"Not directly. It's not bombardment. It's more... subtle."
He looked up, sharp gray eyes focused.
"It's like a hunter."
Alfred waited.
"When you want a rabbit out of its burrow," Bruce continued, "you don't chase it. You set fire around it. Force it into the open."
Silence fell heavy between them.
"There are reports," Bruce went on. "People with abnormal abilities. Metahumans. Physical changes after exposure. Smallville has always been a point of interest-but now someone is trying to provoke responses."
Alfred understood far too quickly.
"You believe they're looking for someone specific."
Bruce placed both hands on the table.
"Or something."
He zoomed in on an area near Crater Lake.
"LuthorCorp has been extracting minerals here for years under the guise of geological surveys. But these minerals react to radiation. They amplify it. They direct it."
Alfred pressed his lips together.
"The Luthors never do anything without a purpose."
"And even less when Gotham is too distracted to notice," Bruce added. "After Indian Hill... Smallville is the perfect experiment."
Alfred looked at him, deeply concerned.
"And you believe there's someone here who isn't aware of what they are."
Bruce thought about it. He didn't know who-not yet-but he knew Indian Hill hadn't been meaningless.
"Yes," he said quietly. "And I think they're trying to draw them out."
Alfred broke the silence.
"Then what will you do? How will we know what LuthorCorp is planning?"
Bruce crossed his arms.
"I'll have to infiltrate their facilities to learn their objective. But first, I need to identify which mineral they're extracting from the contaminated zones-to compare it with the residue found in the Indian Hill labs."
Because if he was right...
Smallville wasn't a quiet town.
It was a lit trap, waiting for someone far too powerful to step into the open.
Bruce closed the laptop with a sharp click.
"I'm going out."
Alfred looked up immediately.
"At this hour?"
"I need to verify the areas closest to town," Bruce said, already grabbing the trunk where he kept his dark gear. "If my hypotheses are correct, the radiation isn't random. There's a pattern."
Alfred frowned.
"Sir, that's dangerous. If someone is manipulating the levels-"
"They won't know," Bruce cut in. "I'm not going to the active zones. Just the margins."
He pulled a small communicator from a drawer, no bigger than a button.
"I'll stay in contact. I'll transmit my position every fifteen minutes."
Alfred sighed, resignation mixing with concern.
"And if someone sees you?"
Bruce hesitated for barely a second-then replied with that dangerous calm Alfred knew too well.
"I'm in Smallville. If they find me near town or the forest, I can pretend I'm lost. Or just... walking.
A bored rich kid doesn't draw attention here."
That didn't reassure Alfred.
"Quiet places are where people disappear most easily, sir."
Bruce turned toward the door.
"That's why I'll be back before dawn."
Alfred watched him leave, the same knot tightening in his chest that he'd felt years ago in Gotham.
"Keep the channel open," he said.
"Always," Bruce replied, already heading off to change.
He pulled on the dark clothes quickly, laced his military boots, and slipped outside.
The clock read 8:26 p.m. He still had time to sweep the entirety of Burnham Forest-at least the first zone.
Fortunately, it was close. If he got turned around, he could find his way back.
He pushed through the thick undergrowth.
The deeper he went, the colder the air became. Branches cracked under his boots, far too loud in the silence. Bruce moved carefully, following coordinates displayed on his watch.
He pulled out the detector.
Click... click...
Too steady.
"Interesting," he murmured.
There were no visible fragments of the mineral he was tracking. No fresh craters. And yet the radiation levels increased the farther he went.
Bruce crouched, examining the soil.
Leaves were burned along the edges-not from fire... but from prolonged exposure.
"It's not a single source," he whispered. "It's forced diffusion."
Something passed overhead.
Bruce froze.
A bird. Nothing more.
But his pulse didn't slow.
He moved forward until the forest opened slightly, revealing a shallow depression in the ground. Half-buried metal scraps, rusted-old machinery, deliberately abandoned.
Luthor.
Bruce clenched his jaw.
"They're using the forest as a filter," he said into the communicator. "Absorbing radiation from the active zone and releasing it slowly here."
Alfred's reply came a second later.
"Like a trap?"
Bruce looked down at the ground-and the counter spiked again.
"Something like that."
Then he felt it.
A strange sensation crawled up his spine. Not fear.
Pressure.
As if the air itself were charged, vibrating in a way that didn't belong.
Bruce lifted his gaze, scanning the darkness.
"And whatever it is they're looking for," he said quietly, "it already knows someone is watching."
The forest did not respond.
But somewhere, high above Smallville's sky...
Something flew too slowly to be a plane.
Clark fell.
It wasn't a landing.
It was a failure.
The bed of leaves crunched beneath his weight, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. He stayed there, flat on his back, arms spread, staring at the stars peeking through the branches above.
“Damn it... ” he muttered, frustration trapped in a humorless laugh.
He hadn't even flown.
Just jumps. Awkward. Uncontrolled. Like a kid pretending to be something he still didn't understand.
He dragged an arm over his eyes, embarrassed with himself.
He took a deep breath.
And then...
Something changed.
The air.
An unexpected scent cut through the forest-clean, woody, impossible to mistake.
Clark's heart lurched violently.
“Bruce... ” he whispered without realizing it.
Instinct kicked in before reason. In the blink of an eye, the world became blurred lines and wind slicing against his face. He stopped abruptly, hiding behind a thick tree, holding his breath.
There he was.
Bruce was dressed completely in black, as if the night itself had claimed him. He moved without a flashlight, confident in every step, holding a strange device that emitted soft pulses of light.
“ The reading remains stable -he murmured”. I'll circle the lake... yes, Alfred. Keep the signal open...
Silence.
Bruce pocketed the communicator.
Clark watched him for a long moment. He didn't know what Bruce was doing there.
But he knew he shouldn't be alone.
He took an involuntary step. A branch snapped.
Bruce stopped.
He didn't ask.
He didn't hesitate.
His hand moved in a fraction of a second.
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
Clark barely had time to react as the object flew inches from his face and slammed violently into the tree behind him.
“Hey ” he blurted, stepping out of hiding on pure reflex, heart pounding in his throat.
The batarang was still vibrating, embedded deep in the wood.
Clark looked at it.
Then at Bruce.
Bruce stood perfectly still.
His eyes-cold, analytical-locked onto Clark.
Clark raised his hands, nervous.
“I-I wasn't going to”
He didn't finish the sentence.
Because in that instant, both of them realized the same thing.
The forest was completely silent.
No insects.
No wind.
Just two monstrously big secrets...
meeting each other for the first time in the dark.
For an eternal second, neither of them moved.
Clark reacted first. He swallowed, lowering his hands slightly, nerves still buzzing under his skin.
“W-what are you doing out here? ” he asked “. It's late... it's past eight.”
Bruce blinked, analyzing the person in front of him under the moonlight.
And his pupils dilated.
It was the morning Alpha. The blue-eyed boy.
His fingers tightened slightly as he recognized him.
Clark took a couple of steps toward the tree and looked at the object embedded in the bark. He pulled it free carefully, curiosity outweighing caution. It was metallic. Heavy. Strange.
“Is this... like a ninja weapon? ” he joked weakly, turning it between his fingers.
Bruce clenched his jaw. He didn't want to answer, but he had to say something. Anything-because otherwise he'd end up in trouble thanks to this nosy kid. Was he stalking him?
It didn't make sense. There had been no tracks. No warning. No presence. It was as if he had fallen from the sky-though not literally.
“I was training” Bruce said at last, a bit tense, never taking his eyes off him-. I practice martial arts.
Clark looked up.
The fear was still there... but it mixed dangerously with something else. Admiration. Fascination.
His heart began to race too fast.
Bruce in black. In the forest. Unafraid of the night.
“I... I didn't know ” Clark murmured “. I thought you were just”
He trailed off.
Bruce stepped forward to retrieve the batarang. When his fingers brushed Clark's, both of them froze for a fraction of a second too long.
Then Bruce frowned.
Something didn't add up.
The forest.
The hour.
And Clark.
His eyes swept over the boy carefully. Steady breathing. No signs of exhaustion. Not a single tear in his clothes, despite being deep in the woods.
He lowered his voice.
“And you?” he asked slowly “. What are you doing here?”
Clark blanked.
He opened his mouth... and nothing coherent came out.
Bruce tilted his head, analytical, like a hunter who had just noticed the prey had never been afraid.
Clark laughed nervously.
“I... uh...”
Bruce held his gaze, unyielding.
“What were you doing here?”
The air tightened.
And this time...
Bruce had asked the right question.
Clark spoke before thinking.
“I lost... my dog -he blurted out.”
Bruce blinked, confused.
“Your dog?”
Clark nodded far too fast, as if his head could convince his brain afterward.
“Yeah. Shelby. He's... big ” he added, gesturing vaguely “, golden, really restless. He ran off when I went for a walk and I thought that... that he'd come into the woods.”
Bruce watched him in silence.
Too much silence.
His uncertain gaze scanned Clark again, recalculating. The pulse. The posture. The way he was far too intact for someone who'd been searching for a dog through branches and dirt.
“In the woods?” he asked “. At night?”
Clark swallowed, noticing how serious Bruce looked.
“ Well... ” he smiled awkwardly “, Shelby isn't very bright.”
Bruce narrowed his eyes, clearly not buying the story entirely.
He was about to say something else when, suddenly-
“WOOF!”
A golden blur burst out of the bushes, tail wagging wildly, tongue hanging out, like he'd just won the lottery.
Shelby.
Clark felt his soul snap back into place.
“Shelby! ” he exclaimed, immediately crouching down.
The dog launched himself at him, nearly knocking him over, covering him in fur and drool. Clark laughed-genuine, relieved-as he hugged him.
“I found you... ” he whispered “. You were going to get me into so much trouble, you know that?”
Bruce remained still, watching the scene.
The analysis slipped a little... though not completely.
“Looks like he found you ” he murmured.
Clark looked up, still crouched, a shy smile on his face.
“Guess today's my lucky day.”
Bruce didn't answer right away.
He watched the town's Alpha, kneeling under the moonlight, arms wrapped around his dog, wearing an expression so honest it dismantled every theory...
but didn't erase them.
“Be more careful ” Bruce said at last “ This forest isn't safe”
Clark nodded.
“I know. I live here, believe me... it's magical. But still, I should be the one telling you not to be out here.”
He stood up, gripping Shelby by the collar.
“And... thanks for not ” he hesitated “, for not attacking me with that again.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow slightly.
“Don't spy on me again and I won't have to throw anything at you.”
They stared at each other a second too long.
Clark thought it, without saying it: I can't tell you I just want to be normal. I barely know how to be that.
Nervous, he turned around, trying to flee.
“Good night, Bruce” he said at last.
Bruce took a moment to respond, noticing how quickly Clark was trying to leave.
“Good night.”
Clark walked away with the dog, his heart still racing. He needed to get out of there before the Omega realized his excuse didn't really add up.
And Bruce stayed there, motionless in the darkness, thinking that none of that had been normal.
Clark lifted a hand in farewell... then stopped.
The idea of leaving Bruce alone out there, in the middle of the forest, twisted something in his chest he couldn't ignore.
“Hey ” he said, scratching the back of his neck “ It's late.”
Bruce glanced at him over his shoulder.
“I know.”
“Like I said, it's not very safe to be around here at this hour ” Clark continued, casual... too casual “ I could walk you back to your place.”
Bruce frowned slightly.
“I'm fine ”he replied flatly “That won't be necessary.”
Clark opened his mouth to argue immediately.
“I insist.”
Bruce looked at him, assessing. As if deciding whether he was an inconvenience... or a threat.
“I don't need an escort.”
Clark lifted both hands, nervous.
“It's not that. It's just... ” he hesitated. “I'm already heading back anyway, and I can walk with you for a bit. Unless you want to stay out here training with your... ninja stuff.”
Silence.
Between them, the wind stirred the leaves. In the distance, the lake reflected the moon. Clark noticed Bruce's gaze drift there for a second.
“The lake's that way ” Clark said quickly, pointing. “It's nice at night.”
Bruce looked back at him.
“Another time” he replied.
Clark smiled, that soft, stubborn smile that didn't fade easily.
“I can walk with you just part of the way” he insisted. “Until we're out of the woods.”
Bruce sighed, annoyed. Uncomfortable.
“You're very persistent for someone who just lost his dog " he commented.
Clark laughed quietly.
“I've been told it's a good quality.”
Bruce shook his head and started walking. He couldn't stay behind alone-doing so would look far too suspicious after throwing a sharp object at someone. It had been a survival instinct, yes, but now he needed to dissolve the impression that he'd been out there investigating.
“I won't promise to keep up ” he said, more to himself, accepting that he was leaving.
Clark hurried to walk beside him.
“Don't worry ” he replied, trying to sound relaxed. “I can adjust.”
And as they moved forward together, Clark thought that even if Bruce didn't know it yet, he'd already gained something. He hadn't given up. And he didn't plan to.
They walked side by side along the narrow path.
Not too close.
Not too far.
Clark carefully measured his pace so he wouldn't pull ahead... or fall behind. Bruce walked with his hands in his pockets, alert to everything, as if the forest were an invisible chessboard.
The silence stretched.
Clark cleared his throat.
“So... ” he began “you said you train in martial arts.”
Bruce didn't answer right away.
“Yes.”
Clark nodded, as if that single syllable were a complete conversation.
“Which one?” he asked. “I mean... if you don't mind.”
Bruce took a second longer than usual.
“Several.”
Clark blinked.
“Several?”
“Mm-hm.”
Another silence.
Clark bit his tongue, trying not to smile like an idiot at the fact that he was still talking to the Omega.
“That's... cool” he said. “I tried karate once. Broke a board and... well, the floor too. Accidentally.”
Bruce turned his head just enough to give him a brief glance. Quick. Evaluating.
“Sounds inefficient.”
“Oh, it was” Clark admitted. “That's why I quit.”
They kept walking.
Branches crunched beneath their feet. The air was cool, night-heavy. Clark noticed how Bruce seemed to move with the environment, as if the forest recognized him.
“How long have you been training? -he asked again.”
“Since I was a child ” Bruce replied.
Clark smiled without realizing it.
“It shows.”
Bruce stopped abruptly.
Clark nearly ran into him.
“It shows what?” Bruce asked, turning slowly.
Clark swallowed.
“That you're... disciplined” he corrected quickly. “Confident. Like someone who always knows where he's stepping.”
The tension slipped between them, thick.
Bruce studied him for several seconds that felt far too long.
“You too” he said finally. “You walk like you can't afford to be wrong.”
Clark laughed nervously.
“Oh, trust me. I mess up all the time.”
Bruce resumed walking, and Clark followed, heart beating a little too fast.
“And you? ” Bruce asked without looking at him. “Do you train in anything?”
He was trying to keep the conversation going, to diffuse the tension-and the fact that they were alone.
Clark hesitated.
“Uh... farm stuff.”
“That's not a martial art.”
“Depends” Clark replied. “Chickens can be pretty violent.”
A second passed.
Bruce let out a short laugh. Barely there. But real.
Clark heard it... and his inner Alpha practically did a flip.
Bruce glanced at him sideways. Clark was already looking at him, not even trying to hide it.
Their gazes met for a second too long.
Something electric passed between them. The scent. The night. The gentle danger of being too close.
Bruce was the first to look away.
“Don't look at me like that” he said sharply, his tone colder now, more aggressive.
Clark turned red.
“Sorry. It's just that... you walk weird.”
“Weird how?”
“Like you're always expecting an attack.”
Bruce clenched his jaw.
“Habit”
And Clark didn't ask any more questions.
But he wanted to know everything.
...
Alfred remained in the attic, carefully watching the small device he had discreetly placed in Bruce's clothing. The tracker's needle moved with only a faint tremor; the Omega was still near the forest, exploring cautiously, though he had begun to withdraw little by little.
For a moment, Alfred tensed his shoulders, tempted to contact him. However, his instincts urged patience. He must not alert anyone or jeopardize Bruce's investigation.
As he waited, his gaze drifted over the reports, notes, and clippings spread across the table. He stopped at an old article, yellowed with age: the fire at the Sullivan house. The connections were deeply unsettling. Lionel Luthor had been involved, and everything suggested that the Luthor family knew far more than they let on about the strange events shaking Smallville.
Alfred frowned.
If the Sullivans had been directly targeted by Lionel, that meant the family could be the key. Perhaps they knew something the rest of the town didn't. Keeping Bruce informed, focused, and safe would be essential. Every piece of the puzzle mattered, and Smallville-despite its peaceful appearance-hid secrets capable of putting them all in danger.
With silent resolve, Alfred turned on his master's laptop and began searching for more information.
...
They walked for a few more minutes, accompanied only by the crunch of gravel beneath their steps and Shelby's calm panting as he happily trotted between them.
“So... ” Clark broke the silence, trying to sound casual- where are you from?
Bruce didn't look at him right away.
“England.”
Clark blinked, surprised... and delighted.
“Really? Wow. That's... ” he smiled “that's amazing. I've never been out of the country.”
Bruce tilted his head just slightly.
“It shows.”
Clark let out a soft laugh.
“And your last name?”
Bruce hesitated for a fraction of a second. Long enough for Clark to notice.
“Pennyworth” he replied at last, curtly.
Clark didn't question it. On the contrary, he nodded as if he'd just been handed a treasure.
“Pennyworth... sounds important.” Then he added quickly “I mean, elegant. Very elegant.”
Bruce rolled his eyes, but said nothing.
“And... how long are you planning to stay in Smallville? ” Clark asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “It's not exactly exciting, but... it has its charm.”
“As long as necessary” Bruce replied.
And without realizing it, they had reached the point where the path split.
Bruce stopped.
“My place is that way” he said, gesturing toward the hills. “It's close.”
Something tightened in Clark's chest. His Alpha wanted to walk him home. To make sure he arrived safely. To follow him all the way to the door. To see where he lived. Everything.
But he restrained himself.
“Alright” he said, swallowing. “Then... get back safely.”
Bruce looked at him a second longer than expected.
“You too.”
And then he turned away.
Clark stood still, watching him leave. The dark silhouette slowly fading into the hills until it disappeared completely.
The moment Bruce was out of sight-
Clark smiled as if someone had plugged electricity straight into his heart.
“Come on, Shelby!” he whispered.
And he jumped.
Not a normal jump. One far too high. So high that for a second he could see the entire town lit up-the streets, the Talon, the barn... all of Smallville spread out beneath him.
He landed back at the farm with a muffled laugh, heart racing, Shelby barking happily around him, barely keeping up.
Clark dropped onto the grass, staring up at the stars.
“I talked to him... ” he murmured, incredulous. “I actually talked to him. Again.”
And to Clark, once more, it felt like an absolute victory.
Notes:
Hi, I'm finally free from the semester... though not so much from work, but at least it's a bit lighter now. Teaching kids is way more fun during the holidays than I imagined, and even more so at Christmas. By the way, it's funny, but Shelby is the name of the superdog from Smallville. Although the episode is ironically called "Krypto." It's from season 4, episode 14. I never found out why they decided not to use that name, though. Lol
Thank you so much for your lovely comments; reading them always makes me smile. I hope you enjoyed today's chapter. See you next time! 🦇🌿
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