Disclaimer: I don’t own any material contained within this story. All copyrighted content remains the property of the person, people, or organization that holds the copyright. This story is solely for fun.

AN: Okay, I started this more as an experiment than an actual story. I usually write humor fics. However I’m afraid that I drained most of the energy out of my Humor Muse with Cameron Gets a Virus. So I decided to practice with a few different writing styles while I give her a chance to rest. This story is my attempt at adventure/angst, something that I’ve never tried before. Some small amount of humor will probably still leak through, though. I’m also going to try writing in first person, something else that I don’t have much experience with. I did write a one-shot in first person, but that was after starting this fic. The perspective will switch with each chapter. The first chapter is going to be seen through Jason’s eyes. The second chapter will be seen through Carter's optics. Any feedback, positive or negative, is appreciated, just as long as it’s constructive. No flames please. Other DC characters should make eventual appearances, and if the story ever gets far enough Superman will be back.

Backstory: I've set Superman Returns in 1997. This takes place in 2007. Lois and Jason have been traumatized by Superman's death after his battle with Doomsday. Richard has moved his family west, hoping it will help them cope. And just so you know, I’ve set Jason’s powers a little bit bellow golden age levels. That means no flying, freeze breath, heat vision or x-ray vision, and his maximum lifting strength is about 10,000 pounds (5 tons). If you’ve watched the movies were Superman’s lifting continents and moving moons, this may seem a little weak. However, keep in mind that Jason’s only fifteen and half human.

Day one. Part one: A New School.

I step out of my mothers car and head toward my new school. My mother insists on driving me on my “first day going to a new school.” Although, I don’t know why. It’s not like I'm going to get lost and start aimlessly wandering the streets of LA, but she’s always been overprotective.

I look up and notice clouds gathering in the sky. Great, it’s going to rain. I hate rainy days. I find them depressing, and I’m already depressed enough. Well, I suppose most people find the rain depressing, but with me it’s not just because of the psychological effects. I’m a little bit physically weaker during rainy days. The clouds block out too much of the sun’s rays.

I reach the school’s front steps. One of the other teenagers points at me and laughs, “Look at the dork in the superman t-shirt.” His friends, or at least what I presume to be his friends, start laughing along. I ignore the jerk and walk inside.

Normally I don’t walk around in Superman t-shirts. It’s a little to on the nose for my taste, but today’s different. It’s the one month anniversary of my father’s battle against Doomsday, and the t-shirt that I’m wearing is a special one. It’s black with a dripping, blood red S.

The city of Metropolis gave one to each resident on the day of the funeral. “To commemorate his great sacrifice.” Some people used the shirts to make a quick buck. I found several on Ebay the next day. It made me sick. The man gave his life to protect them, and all they cared about was how they could use his death to turn a profit.

I’m directed through a metal detector. It goes off, and I empty my pockets. One of the school security officers picks up my Swiss army knife. “And what do we have here? Planning on starting trouble mister?” Like I really need a knife for that. Even if I was going to use a knife, it certainly wouldn’t be a short bladed Swiss army knife. I just carry it around in my jacket. You never know when a screwdriver or can opener will come in handy.

I answer respectfully, though. “Sorry, I forgot it was in there.”

The man looks at me. “I don’t remember seeing you here before.”

“I just transferred. It’s my first day.”

“Well don’t let it happen again.”

“I won’t”

“Good. You can move along now.”

“Yes sir. Were should I go to get my knife back once school’s over?”

The man smirks, “Sorry kid. Once we confiscate something, you don’t get it back.”

I resist the urge to wipe the smirk from his face and continue on. I can already tell that I’m not going to like it here.

The classes aren’t bad, just your typical high school stuff. Algebra, history, chemistry, nothing that I don’t already know. Given the speed that I can read and think at, I probably know more than the teachers. That makes the classes somewhat boring, but they are still the best part of my day so far.

The day’s half over before my luck goes bad again. I’m in the cafeteria, trying to choke down what I can only describe as a meat paste, when the jerk from before comes over with his friends. “Hey superboy, whatcha eatin?”

“Why don’t you just go away.”

“What, is something bothering the little superboy?”

Now, I’ve tried to be patient, but I’m just about fed up with this school and the people in it. “Yeah, you.”

“Oh, tough guy. What, you gonna melt me with your heat vision.”

“No, but I might throw you across the room if you don’t leave me alone.”

The punk’s friends begin to flank me. “Really, tough guy? Then bring it on.”

I’m just about to teach the jerk a lesson he wont soon forget when a little voice goes off in the back of my head. ‘Humans are frail creatures. You must never use your powers out of anger.’ It’s the voice of my father.

When I was five he told me that I would carry him inside me all the days of my life. It took years before I truly understood what that meant. A part of him will always be watching over me, a whisper in my head trying to keep me from doing the wrong thing. Even though my father’s body has died fighting Doomsday, that part of him is still with me. If anything, it seems to have grown stronger after his passing.

I exhale and slowly stand up. “You know, sometimes it takes more strength not to fight.” I turn to walk away.

“Is that what Superman taught you?” I stop. The kid continues, “Pretty wimpy advice if you ask me.” Now, it's one thing to insult me. I can handle that; well, mostly. But now the little punk is insulting my father. I turn. “I guess that’s why he got himself killed, huh? He was just too much of a wimp to handle a real fight.” That is just too much. I lift the jerk by his cote and hurl him into a wall. His friends attack.

If I wasn’t so angry I’d almost feel sorry for them. I throw them around like rag dolls. That little voice is still in the back of my head, making me pull my punches and ensuring that I don’t actually kill anyone.

I notice that a crowd has begun to gather around and watch the fight, if you can even call it that. The people seem to be enjoying the spectacle. I hear various cries of: “Oh, yeah.”, “That’s gotta hurt” and “Ooh, wouldn’t want to be him.” Whether the crowd’s happy because these punks bothered them as well or they’re just excited to see a fight, I don’t know. However, I suspect the latter. Truth be told though, I don’t much care.

I’m standing over the jerk who started it now. I put my foot on his throat. “Take it back.”

“Take what back?” I’m not sure if the idiot’s in a sate of shock or just being stubborn. I choose to believe the latter.

I wasn’t there to help my father when he fought Doomsday. Well I was there, but I didn’t help. The monster was jumping across towns, demolishing skyscrapers and tearing through tanks like they were made out of cardboard. I’ve got trouble just lifting my grandmother’s tractor. What could I have done? Besides, I figured that my father could handle it. He was Superman after all. There had never been anything he couldn’t handle before. Even then he managed. He killed that monster, but the victory took everything he had to give, and more. He died. If I had been with him. If I had helped him. If I had just done what little I could have, would it have been enough to tip the scales? Would it have been enough to save his life? I’ve asked myself that every night since that battle, and I still don’t know the answer. But even if I couldn’t have saved him, at least I can insure that these punks don’t get away with dishonoring his memory.

I apply a little bit more pressure. “Take back what you said about Superman. Or, I'll crush your voice box; and you'll never say anything again.”

It’s then that a kid breaks through the crowd. “Just calm down. He’s had enough.”

I push against the kid’s chest and pin him to the wall. “You shouldn’t get involved in other people’s fights.” That voice cuts in again. ‘Why not? I did all the time.’ I respond, ‘That's different.’ It replies, ‘Really, stepping in to protect someone from another who is obviously stronger than them? It sounds pretty familiar to me.’ I calm down.

I’m about to let the kid go when I hear a girl say, “You will not hurt John.” Something impacts my arm. My elbow bends and I release the kid. I turn to find out what could’ve possibly hit me hard enough to cause that kind of reaction.

I’m shocked to see a small girl grab my jacket and spin me around with enough force to pull my feat from the ground. She releases me, and I go flying, not the controlled kind either. When I land, I crash strait through a table. I’m not really hurt, just surprised. This girl, who doesn’t look like she could bench more than a hundred pounds, just threw me across the room.

The girl’s still coming. I stand up, and she hits me in the gut. The punch knocks the wind out of me for a few seconds. She uses the time to pull down my head and knee it. I hear a cracking sound and my nose starts bleeding. I think it’s broken. I’ve never had a broken bone before. Just what’s going on here, anyway.

I regain enough of my senses to dodge her next attack. I manage to get my foot around hers and trip her in the process. My nose has already healed, but it’s not straight. In the blink of an eye, I grab it; and as I lock it back into place, I hear another cracking sound. The girl’s still on the ground, but I’m hesitant to press my advantage.

I know how much force I can apply, without being lethal, under normal circumstances. However, these aren’t normal circumstances. I’m still trying to decide what to do, when her legs go up. She kicks me in the chin, and I go down. She’s on top of me in an instant. Her hands go for my throat. I grab them. I can’t believe it. I’m actually struggling to hold them back. Just where is this girl from?

It’s then that the kid from before screams, “Cameron stop!” The girl stops. After a few seconds, I let go of her hands. the kid comes over. He actually asks me, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Do you think you can get you’re girlfriend off of me?”

He turns to the girl. She says, “He could still be a threat.”

“Cam, let him go.” She gets off. He extends his hand and helps to pull me up. Not that I can’t get up on my own, mind you; but it's still a nice thing to do.

I feel like a total jerk. I let my anger get away from me and attacked a nice kid who was only trying to break up a fight. “Hey, sorry about before. I was just upset and…”

“Don’t worry about it. Are you sure that you’re okay?” The kid seems genuinely shocked that I’m alright. I suppose that if a normal teenager had just gone three rounds with the kid’s girlfriend, they’d probably be rushing him to the emergency room, or the morgue.

I have to find out more about that girl; but not now, not with everyone watching. If the girl's that strong, chances are that she's got some kind of secret origin. I doubt her or her boyfriend want to discuss it were they can be overheard.

“Yeah, I’m tougher than I look.” It’s then that the vice principal walks in, looks around, turns an almost unnatural shade of red, and gives the kid, the girl, the punks and myself all detention.

(Please, let me know what you thought of it. The second chapter will be up soon. It's nearly done already. Future updates will be infrequent. As I said, I'm doing this more as an experiment then an actual story.

Have a good day, and God bless,

Metropolis Kid.)