|How To Save Everyone: Superman
Author: Young Wonderman PM
Clark knows he's not a god. But try telling that to all the people who think Superman can do anything.Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama - Superman/Kal-El/Clark K. - Words: 1,894 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 1 - Published: 10-02-12 - id: 8575871
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I Do Not Own Superman. Superman and all affiliated characters mentioned in this story are DC Comics' property unless stated to be original characters.
How to Save Everyone
Superman, Part 1.
A chuckle came to the man in the funny blue suit as he dusted his hands off from another day ending smoothly. Clark ran his left hand through his hair to get a slight itch, one he could have just as easily found the will and kryptonian ability to simply shrug off, as he had thousands of blows previously with the battle he had just participated in, having just defeated several prominent villains on his own, not a bead of sweat to decorate his barren forehead as a smile found its way to his lips.
The cheers of a thousand joyful metropolitans reached the man of steel's highly-receptive hearing, his sight, for all its vast ability to see through brick walls, or the lies of the corrupt, was bombarded by hundreds of men, women, and children. It was a truly beautiful thing for him to experience time and time again: Not the thanks for his work, but the fact that these people could have another day to live peacefully without the threat of some alien despot attempting to turn Metropolis into their next conquest, or maybe a gang of hoodlums stealing from a charity drive. It was the fact he could witness everyone smiling, to know that they all had something to look up to. Clark by no means wished to establish himself as a god to any of them, despite having the power to present himself as such. But as his fathers, both Jor-El and Jonathan Kent had told him many times, he simply wanted to be a beacon: A shining light to show the road into the future.
Clark began to levitate towards the clouds to hurry back home: He and the others at the Daily Planet were going to have a big party, what with it being Jimmy's birthday, when he noticed trash items such as emptied bottles, and paper bags loaded with disgusting old, rotten food flew up towards him. He shielded himself for a moment, before stopping to notice a pair of colors on the bag: Taped to it was what appeared to be an image made of printer paper, depicting the letter S crossed out by green marker. He floated back downwards to see a group with a similar looking set of shirts and other accessories calling him out, spewing insults and curses at him.
"Go to hell, Superman!"
"You couldn't save the world if you tried!"
"You can't even save a burning building, you bastard!"
Clark was truly surprised, before deciding it was just a group of anti-superman protestors, likely here to tell him to go back to 'mars' or something. How he and J'onn laughed at such petty insults. Mustering up his usual attitude, he maintained a level of calmness within himself as he landed, and began a stride towards the group.
"People: Please!" He exclaimed. "I can assure you that no one has been harmed, and that anyone injured is being tended to by the MPD. I of course once again must apologize for any resulting casualties, and I'd be more than willing to help any families-"
"HELP?!" Exclaimed the raging lady in a trench coat and sunglasses. "You couldn't help my husband when he died of his cancer! Don't you have the answer to that, you freak?! Why don't you use your heat vision, or your magic touch or something?!"
The bewildered titan of justice could not answer for a few seconds, when the woman began to spout something about his powers being able to cause such a miracle as curing a major disease. "I...Who was your husband? I'm deeply so-"
"Don't you have a solution to EVERYTHING?!" questioned another. "You could take out all the world's nuclear weapons by yourself, or take out whoever you wanted with ONE punch! You're the strongest guy around, and you can't even stop to help each one us with our problems!"
"You're Superman! You can do whatever the hell you want! But apparently that doesn't include saving everyone! I thought you said nothing was BENEATH you?!"
"Fuck you, Superman!" Spat a tall african-american male sporting a beard. "Where the hell were you when my brother died during that monster attack last month?! I thought nothing could hurt the BIG, BAD, SUPER-WUSS?! And how about your stupid senses?! You can hear a dumbass reporter get their ass in danger, but you can't hear a monster rippin' out somebody's guts?!"
Clark was shocked when the man reminded him of what had happened the other month. A supernatural creature had attacked the suicide slums, murdering people until he discovered what was happening. Clark was about to explain that the beast had operated in a very stealthy manner, its magical abilities only additionally dampening his once thought to be mighty senses with some spells of the dark arts. Even the man of steel had to admit that it was a frightening case.
"That monster was a magical demon of some kind. There's no way-"
"What? Can't save innocent lives? That it, boy scout?"
and then one more voice chose to step up. It was another woman, tears streaming down her cheeks, though she didn't have an outfit like the others, having just now appeared.
The woman raised a hand to stop him, sniffling to herself as she dug into all of her pockets for a moment. She looked to be at least about 29 years old, her hair currently a mess, lip quivering, dressed simply in a purple tank top, some jeans, and a jacket to cover up, what with it being such a cold day. Her tears had ruined her eyeliner, making her look as if she had just gone through hell, and came back, as she pulled out a small photo of a toddler.
"This is my son, Superman. His name was Gabe." She began, speaking through sniffles and having difficulty continuing from the sheer rage boiling in her veins that she fought so hard to keep to herself, "You know, I played with him this morning when he woke up. He was only two years old, and he was going to turn three this week... He could walk, and he even talked a little. He was the smartest, most beautiful little miracle a woman could ask for in her first and only child... his father died a while ago when he joined the police department."
Clark could only listen silently to the woman as she told him the story of her child. While the woman herself was devastated, the image showed a smiling infant, whose grin was toothless, yet one of ignorance and bliss to the world around him. Notably, the baby boy was wearing something that really stirred within Superman: It was a little blue pair of pajamas with the familiar S symbol that was on his own chest.
"He loved to say your name; he loved wearing that little red cape of his, and have me carry him around while he giggled."
"...Its kind of ironic, that I'm talking about miracles with you. You were supposed to be the embodiment of miracles. Everyone always thought you could do ANYTHING..." She sobbed, growing more uncontrollable by the moment, Clark preparing to take her into his arms if he had to, but frozen by the speech of the mother.
"Well guess what, Superman?...He's D-E-A-D. Ever been to Morrison street? You know, the one where you crashed that thing into that apartment building?!" She barked. "The one where you and that alien pummeled each other like a bunch of brutes. I had just bought some groceries, and left Gabe with a sitter. She was nice too, Amy...I think that was her name. As soon as I saw that monster, my first instinct was to run in, and get my baby out. But that was so stupid of me to think I could save him: And a lifeless little bundle was my reward..."
"But you could have saved him."
The words caused the advancing hero to stand absolutely still again. The words sent a chill down his spine.
"You could have swooped in. Saved everyone in the building. You could have swooped in with your flight, gotten through fast enough with your super speed, and tore through the building with your super strength, and blasted that creep with your heat vision. Did you do that, Superman? Because we all know you fart fucking rainbows and save the day every time..."
Clark's lower lip began to stiffen as he tried not to listen to her words, only get to her so he could console her on her loss. The woman proceeded to charge forward, and strike Superman in a flurry of savage swings of her limbs, screaming at him with every fiber of hatred in her body. The man of steel was virtually unharmed. Physically, that is...
"I WANT MY GABE BACK!" She wailed through tears, as two MPD SWAT officers dragged her away, her resistance nearly toppling the both of them with strength that wouldn't have been found in any other woman of her age and build, as she dropped to her knees and let her feelings spill out in front of the crowd.
Clark was struck straight through the heart now. Not by a kryptonite bullet. But rather by guilt. At first this all seemed ridiculous, but as the cases of these people, these people began to speak about lost loved ones, all of whom were innocent people. People that could only be added to the tally of casualties. A few people began to protest in Superman's favor, trying to defend that he still saved tons of other people. But by then, the damage had already been done.
Clark turned away at the next barrage of garbage being thrown at him. He flew off into the heavens, and towards the atmosphere, where he flew back downwards to find his arctic getaway.
"Perry? It's Clark. I'll be running a little late to Jimmy's party. Got caught up in the live match with Superman and that space fiend. I'll get a story written up later for it, I promise."
Clark pressed the send button after he spoke into his computer's microphone, having it send the message to the boss, as he sat back in his chair, and looked around his empty hideaway. His robots were all deactivated, leaving Superman in his somber seating. Clark brought his hands up to his head, running them through his thick black hair, ruffling it and messing up the combed look he had as always. To the side was the wrapped box containing Jimmy's present, a brand new camera, one which his colleague had been pining over for the last few months.
Then, slowly, Clark brought his hands to his face, covering his eyes, nose, and mouth. One sense he had forgotten about earlier was his smell. He thought he could smell victory; taste it too, but it was a mistake: Superman had not realized he was inhaling the scent of death and destruction. Of a defeat.
He was Superman.
And for the people he worked to protect.
He could not do a thing to save them all.