Bolt, From Dubuque (Part 9)
By: Ann Nonymous
Clark’s heart was thumping rapidly in his chest as he strode away from the reporters. The glare from the bright lights atop their cameras still engulfed him as he jumped up into the air, shooting off across town and into the relative darkness to finish the work that he had started. He didn’t know what had possessed him to go to them, to clearly broadcast his face over however many hundreds of news stations that were broadcasting off of a live feed from that very spot, and to reveal the name that Lois had suggested. He had told himself that he was going to take it slow, that he was going to be discrete at the outset, but that particular plan of action was now just a distant memory.
His coming out had actually been planned ever since watching Lois’s taillights heading off toward some nameless destination down a busy Metropolis street the night before. Just being with her, talking to her, feeling that something special within her and feeding on the optimism and acceptance that she offered had changed him, acting as the catalyst to what had just been a nugget of an idea before he had flown into Metropolis. It had already been decided that he wanted to help, yes, but he’d never had a clear concept of what that meant until afterwards. Then it had all fallen into place, the feeling so strong that he couldn’t believe that he’d never experienced it before that night. Hiding in the shadows and denying all his God given talents just wasn’t an option anymore, and he needed to get out there and start making a difference as quickly as possible.
The first step in living up to his new role as a hero would be to get some sort of costume. Lana was right in one respect: if he were to go out in public and perform incredible feats that no normal person should perform, he would be an instant focus of attention. Bolt had proven that beyond the shadow of a doubt. But Bolt had also shown that a little careful image management could make a world of difference. Certain members of the press had wondered just who it was underneath that silver helmet, but nobody had been able to figure out the new hero’s other identity. Credit Bolt with being canny enough to hide anything that could differentiate him from any other college age kid. He showed no birthmarks, no scars, no distinguishing features whatsoever. And even though Bolt’s other identity lived in the same town as Clark, there were no television crews mobbing him, no reporters interviewing his friends and neighbors and no bad guys aiming terrible weapons at him. He led a life that was as normal and ordinary as anyone else’s. Deep down, Clark was envious of what Bolt had, but he knew that he could’ve had the same thing, if only he had been willing to take the first step. And now he was ready. He just needed the disguise.
As he had caught his own reflection in the mirror later that night, he had realized that, in a way, he already had a disguise. His stylish frames and non-corrective lenses had been a camouflage of sorts that he had worn ever since his parents passed away. The original pair had been a prop, used as part of a Halloween costume one year or another, shoved into a drawer of his nightstand and forgotten until after the accident. The loss of his parents had been such a shock that it hadn’t seemed entirely real, at least not until they had made him go back to the darkened, empty farm house, one that had once been so full of life and warmth, and clear out his possessions. His aunt had taken him there, and as she had gathered up his parent’s belongings, he had sat meekly in his room, crying quietly as he emptied all that he owned into small cardboard boxes. Eventually he had come across the glasses, regarding them curiously as he heard his aunt walk toward the room to hurry him along. Ten-year-old boys weren’t supposed to cry, he had told himself even as the tears streamed down his cheeks. Boys were supposed to be tough and carefree, but he certainly hadn’t felt like either. Rather than letting his aunt see his pain, he had slipped the glasses on and scrubbed his cheeks dry, hoping that the darkness of the frames and glare of the light off the lenses would help her not see the red in his eyes. And it had worked. Throughout the ensuing days and weeks, he found himself waking up from dreams of happier days, dreams that made the life that he had settled into almost unbearable by comparison. And so the tears had come again, usually when nobody was looking, often on the way to school. The glasses hid his suffering, and upheld the image of normalcy that he was desperately trying to preserve. They had also had a subtle effect on his behavior, steering him toward the quiet crowd, the geeky crowd, and away from the bullies and jocks, which had turned out to be a blessing once he had started developing his powers. After the tears had dried up and his grief had become a memory, he had kept the glasses without really questioning why. Perhaps he only felt comfortable when he was wearing them; perhaps he only felt like himself when he was hiding part of himself away from the world. But today was a new day.
He had been wearing glasses so long that he hardly noticed them anymore, but none of his college friends and very few of his high school pals had ever really seen him without them on. So removing them would certainly be a change, but would it be enough for people to not recognize him? Not by itself, he decided as he took them off and placed them on the counter. He supposed he could wear a hat or ball cap to cover his hair, but his experiences of flying with hats were never what he would call satisfactory. More likely than not, the hat would get caught in the breeze and would end up being ripped from his head, usually floating to the ground while he was still streaking across the sky. Finding it again was probably worse than trying to find a needle in a haystack, at least for someone with x-ray vision, and so unless he wanted to spend a small fortune replacing hats, that option was out. Actually, he thought as he brought his hand to his hair, it was always best when he had the least wind resistance. The going was certainly a lot easier when his hair was short, or wet, or otherwise kept close to his head. His normal style was something with body, and his hair had a bit of a natural curl to it, so it usually stood up or stuck out at least a little bit. His normal style also served to give his face a more oval shape, but as he pulled his hair down and turned his head he realized that his face seemed much rounder. It was striking. So that would definitely be part of his image change. The next question was, what would he wear? What kind of symbol or image would he like to be associated with?
That answer was easy. A beat-up old trunk now residing at the foot of his bed had been with him ever since before the accident. Inside it were the few things that his parents had left with him, mementos of a better time, of the last time he had truly felt at peace with himself. What was in the chest was what made him Clark, and he knew that his secret identity was lurking inside. And it was. There, buried beneath the old photos and baby books, was a blue blanket, the fabric otherworldly, the symbol attached to it holding some special meaning that he did not know. He remembered his mother saying once that this was the blanket they found him in. And so, in a way, it was the link to both his past lives, to wherever it was up in the heavens that he came from, and to the parents he had loved so much. That would be the symbol he would wear, but he didn’t want to deface the old blanket, his only memento from a world long ago lost. Instead, he had to duplicate it somehow.
Not wanting to worry about any overly elaborate costume, and knowing full well the very limited ability he had when it came to handling a needle and thread, he had gone to the store and found a blue lycra t-shirt, one that fit him snugly. Experience had shown that tighter clothing was somehow impervious from harm, almost as if it was within an extension of his invulnerability. The next stop had been to the campus arts center, where there was screen-printing equipment available. He had adjourned to a private booth with his new purchase, cut the stencils, and used some red and yellow paint to silkscreen the symbol he had seen on the blanket onto the shirt. Before going home, he stopped at the drug store, buying some hair care products.
Once back in his dorm room, he’d put the whole package together. With the tight shirt, tight jeans, and plenty of goop in his hair, he certainly looked different. But removing his glasses, the final step, truly completed the disguise, just as he thought it would. He had placed his hands on his hips and looked at himself in the mirror, trying several expressions out as he attempted to look as heroic as possible. Satisfied, he had plopped down on the couch and turned on the television. And waited.
The cable news networks droned on endlessly, replaying what passed for news every hour, but throughout the afternoon and into the evening there was nothing pressing – no disasters, no urgent crimes, nothing. And crime never seemed to happen in his relatively small college town, or anywhere else within the immediate range of his hearing, and this day was no exception. It left a lot of time to think, and become anxious, and question the decision he had made that had felt so right the night before. It was scary to think about going out into public without any pretense. To go out there and be who he really was, to go out there and do all that he was truly capable of had been a fear of his for so long that it still nagged at him, even on the eve of his debut. Add to that the fact that his disguise was basically to have no disguise, and it left him feeling decidedly naked, exposed, and nervous. He knew it was the right thing to do, and he truly wanted to do it so badly that it almost hurt to wait. But at the same time, it meant the beginning of something new, of a change in himself, and he wasn’t entirely sure he was ready.
Finally, as the sun hung low in the sky and his stomach began to remind him that suppertime was approaching, it had come. A tornado, in all of its awesome fury, had struck out and leveled a town in Oklahoma. The destruction was overwhelming, the rescue crews were hampered by the total devastation of the area. If ever a situation cried out for a hero, this one did. It was the opportunity he had been looking for, just waiting to be seized, and Bolt was nowhere in sight. Shoving his fears into the back of his mind, he had raced onto the scene, immersing himself in work. He never once felt self-conscious as he cleared away rubble and hoisted twisted metal and broken houses, as he freed grateful victims and flew them off for medical treatment. Every now and then, when he encountered rescue workers or medical personnel, he could see a look in their eyes that made him flinch ever so slightly, a look of unveiled awe or curiosity that brought back the ghost of the long-held fears within him. But for every person who viewed him as a curiosity, there were many more who regarded him with nothing but gratitude for all he was doing. Softly spoken words of thanks were more than enough of a reward for him, and he fed off the positive emotions, driving himself, forcing himself on even when his emotions threatened to get the better of him. It wasn’t always easy. He had freed many people, yes, but others hadn’t been so fortunate. He did run across twisted bodies among the rubble, and it was hard to see scattered possessions and ruined photographs and not think of all the lives that had been forever changed by the fury of nature. But he kept going, trying his best to look past the destruction and concentrate on each task as it came.
After a while, the television crews began to trickle into the small Oklahoma town. He knew that they had originally come to cover the aftermath of the tornado, but was well aware of the quiet whispers among the townsfolk that worked their way toward the media, creating a buzz among them that Clark actively tried to ignore. Giving all his attention to the press would do nothing to help the task at hand, would do nothing to help save the lives of those still trapped in the rubble. So they had stayed in the background, a potential distraction meriting no attention, at least, not until he had finished.
The dog he had freed was the last creature that remained trapped. The camera crews had lurked on the street beside the home, and Clark had approached them without any thought, peripherally aware that it was now time for the late news, and that the eyes of world were now on that very spot. The cameras had swarmed, but he hadn’t been afraid, and as they started to question him, all he could think of was the possibility that Lois was out there somewhere, her eyes twinkling as she watched the television, her mouth set in an encouraging smile. She was the impetus for all this, after all, so he had given himself the name that she had suggested, and then left. It was only then that he realized what he had just done, that he knew that he had taken the mystery out of his existence once and for all.
Clark cringed slightly as he flew through the air, telling himself that what was done was done, and that it had probably been for the best, anyway. All he could do now was forget about them, forget about the gossip and the headlines that were sure to come the next day, and keep going like he had before. Unfortunately, the tasks that remained were few, and soon enough he’d have to go back home and face the reality of what he had done and the instant fame of the hero he had created. Concentrate, he told himself once again. Submerse yourself in work. So what was there left to do, exactly? Well, he thought, relaxing as the press became a distant memory once again, he could clear the roads, or try and stabilize damaged buildings, or do what he could to restore essential services. Nodding, he set to work, busily performing the tasks he had listed, this time out of the watchful eyes of the media.
He was hoisting a collapsed section of wall off of a side street in the vacant business district when he became aware of someone standing next to him, someone who hadn’t been there mere moments earlier. The wall slipped ever so slightly in his grasp as he turned toward the new arrival in surprise, but before he had a chance to blink, his companion was beside him, helping with the task. The wall was sufficiently moved seconds later, and Clark was able to give his full attention to his new visitor, who was now wiping his hands against each other to remove the dust.
Bolt, the legendary hero who had been absent earlier in the night, was now standing beside Clark in all his glory, his shiny helmet showing a contorted reflection of downtown that seemed very fitting. Clark had followed Bolt’s other identity around campus once or twice out of pure curiosity, but always at a distance, and never close enough for the other man to even know he was there. They had never talked, never so much as stood next to one another since that day at the stadium, and Clark had wondered what it would be like when the time finally did happen. Academically, he had known that it would probably be just like meeting any other college student, that Bolt really wasn’t any different than he was. But somewhere deep inside was the small amount of awe that had been instilled in him by the media, who had unanimously declared Bolt a hero and glorified everything that he did. It was hard not to get caught up in that hero worship, especially when Bolt had managed to do so much to change Clark’s life, to lay the groundwork so that he was willing to come out on a night like tonight. So a small part of him had expected Bolt to cut an impressive figure in person, to somehow be larger than life, but as Clark regarded the world’s first superhero, he found himself somewhat disappointed. Granted, Bolt had just flown onto the scene, super sped to Clark’s side, and used incredible strength to help with the wall, but close up, Bolt really did just look like any other person his own age, indistinguishable in a crowd if not for the helmet and the sunglasses. Clark briefly wondered how he looked in the eyes of the other man, if maybe there wasn’t some similar sentiment. Was he disappointed that his successor wore jeans and tennis shoes, just like he did? They were probably more alike than he had realized, Clark thought as he regarded Bolt, who was now appraising the situation in the immediate area.
“Thanks,” Clark said, patting the dust out of his jeans and looking away from the other hero and out toward the rest of the town.
“Don’t mention it. I didn’t mean to startle you just now,” Bolt said, scratching awkwardly behind his ear and following Clark’s gaze. “I guess I just let my curiosity get the better of me.”
“I can understand that,” Clark said, shifting his weight back and forth, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.
Bolt smiled somewhat shyly, turning back toward Clark. “Yeah, I image you can.” He gestured toward the street, his hand sweeping in a broad arc. “So, do you need any help with anything else?”
Clark shrugged. “I was just trying to clean things up a little, maybe get some stuff off the street to make it easier to get around. I guess it’s not all that important, but it beats going home.”
Bolt nodded, assessing the situation. The silence was somewhat awkward, and Clark glanced back toward Bolt, noticing that he had pinched his lower lip between his thumb and first finger. “Would you be interested in going someplace a little more private and having a conversation?” Bolt asked after a moment, his words measured, his face serious. They looked at each other for a moment, Bolt anticipating, Clark appraising, before Bolt seemed to relax, a small smile working its way onto his face. “I mean, it’s not every day that you meet someone else who can....” He held out one of his arms, making a comical flying motion. His eyebrows were now arched above the sunglasses, and Clark couldn’t help but smile in response.
“That’s for sure,” Clark answered, wondering if Bolt realized that they actually had met before. “Where were you thinking of going?”
“How about back to where this all started?” Bolt asked, his voice quiet, any earlier levity now completely gone.
Clark blushed slightly, chiding himself for underestimating the other man. Nodding slightly, he turned back toward the town, taking a deep breath. “I would like to get the major streets cleared first, and if you would like to help, be my guest. Then....”
Bolt nodded. “See you there,” he said, and then was gone. Clark blinked, a feeling of displacement washing over him as he wondered if this was how Lana felt the few times he had sped away from her like that. It was very strange to be on the other side of things now, a situation that would’ve been unfathomable up until recently. With a shake of the head, he was off, quickly finishing the job he had started and streaking back toward Kansas and the stadium where the fateful bolt of lightning had struck.
-/-\-
Bolt had settled into the balcony of the Midwestern State Stadium, looking out over the darkened field. The stadium lights loomed above, darkened, the only illumination provided by the half moon hanging high overhead. The painted logos on the field looked black under the faint silver light, the maroon and gold seats varying shades of gray. Bolt slid off his sunglasses and helmet, not caring that without those essential elements of his disguise, he would be just lowly Kevin Jones, student and part time stadium usher. He supposed that didn’t have anything to fear from revealing himself to the new hero, a man whose compassion had clearly been evident in the work that he had done that evening. Besides, Superman had seen him before, and was certainly able to literally see through the disguise even if he hadn’t. Either way, Kevin wanted to get to know this guy, maybe team up with him, certainly talk some shop about the trials and tribulations of lightning powers, and hopefully become his friend. And friends didn’t have secrets.
But enough about that, he thought, closing his eyes as he let the sounds of a college town on a Saturday night permeate his consciousness, feeling all the tension drain out of his muscles as he did. The bars over in campustown were busy, the steady beat of loud music very evident to his sensitive ears. Televisions blared in homes across the town, but a fair number of individuals could also be heard sawing logs, apparently anticipating an early Sunday. Bolt smiled as he opened his eyes again, savoring the intimate connection with the town that his new abilities allowed him. In some strange way, being able to reach out and experience the hustle and bustle of life with all his being made him feel alive in a way that he never had before. His smile only grew as he noticed an object streaking across the sky in the distance, making a beeline for the very spot he occupied. A few seconds later, Superman was standing next to him, looking around the stadium before finally taking a seat.
Bolt looked at him, appraised him for a second, then held out his hand. “Kevin Jones. Nice to meet you,” he said.
Superman looked at the hand for a moment then looked at Kevin, apparently trying to decide if he wanted to reveal himself. Although, Kevin thought with a smirk, maybe ‘reveal’ was the wrong word. Superman couldn’t be any more out in the open, his disguise clearly one of misdirection rather than of covering himself up. The first time they had met, this man had been wearing glasses, much like Kevin. Apparently the lightning bolt did wonders for his sight, too, because now the glasses were gone. His hair also looked different, and his wardrobe could now definitely be considered tight fitting.
“Clark Kent,” he replied after a moment, taking the offered hand in his and shaking it once. His voice was different than what Kevin had heard on television earlier. Another part of the disguise, he realized with an appreciative grin.
“I seem to recall that the last time I saw you, I was smoldering from just being hit by a million volts of electricity that by all rights should have killed me, and you were telling me that the lightning missed you,” Kevin said, his smile teasing.
Clark shrugged, leaning back so that his elbows were on the next row of bleachers behind them. He seemed calm, but Kevin could tell that there was a hint of embarrassment behind his exterior. “I figured you had bigger things to worry about than whether or not I got hit.”
It struck Kevin as a little odd that this man would take such a cavalier attitude about his own safety, but he let it slide, remembering how great he had felt immediately after the strike. If his nametag hadn’t still been smoldering, he probably would’ve done the same thing. “You’re probably right,” Kevin said, turning his gaze upward, his mind almost expecting to see those dark clouds gathered up there still.
His smile began to fade, heavy seriousness settling over him as he thought about the man sitting next to him, the man that shared the same talents as him, and possibly the same feeling of isolation. Up until a few hours ago, Kevin had thought his experiences had been unique, that everything he had gone through could never be understood by anyone else. It had been a scary thought, even for a loner such as himself, and it was comforting to know now that he wasn’t alone. Before he had figured out how to “shave” himself, before he had gotten a real grip on the hearing and the vision and the flying, he had wanted so badly to tell it all to someone, anyone, and locking himself up in his apartment and hiding his furry face from the world hadn’t helped. He had needed a moment like this, a moment with someone who understood, so very badly. There was just so much he wanted to share, so much he wanted to ask...so much he wanted to hear. Maybe hearing someone else’s stories of they got through all the problems would put it all in perspective, and maybe he would be able to look back at it all and laugh.
Kevin sighed softly and turned toward the moon, his vision acute enough now to pick up the speck of blue and red propped up above the dust of the lunar surface, small indentations in the powder the lasting remnants of man’s will to discover, to reach out for the unknown. When you grew up in a relatively small town in a small state that’s part of a country that inhabits a small corner of the big spinning globe called Earth, it was easy to feel insignificant, and it was easy to discount that wandering spirit within yourself. Who are you, anyway? What makes you think you can go out in that big world and do something great? What makes you think you can walk on the moon? Kevin had always ignored his wanderlust, asking himself all those questions and never having any real answers. He had never known who he was, what had made him special, and he certainly hadn’t thought himself capable of great things, not until the strike. The changes that lightning brought were profound, but so was whatever it was that he had found within himself.
“That lightning bolt was the best thing that ever happened to me,” he said quietly, opening the conversation with the one statement that encapsulated all his thoughts. “Before it happened, I spent a lot of time wondering just where my place in the world was. I never thought myself capable of anything worthwhile, you know? I would’ve never found out otherwise if not for the intervention of Mother Nature.”
Clark nodded, his gaze also turning toward the heavens. Fluffy clouds had begun to roll in, dotting the night sky. “That lightning certainly changed my life, too,” he answered softly, his voice heavy. Overhead, a shooting star raced across the horizon. “I always felt, I don’t know, outside of society somehow, because no matter what I did, I couldn’t be what I wanted for who I wanted. But I think now that maybe I didn’t want what I thought I did.”
Kevin nodded, appreciating the sentiment. What teenager hadn’t felt like they were on the outside looking in at some point in time? “Well, I always wanted to be a superhero,” he said, drawing a chuckle from Clark. “I just never had the means to be one before.”
Clark seemed about to say something, but whatever it was died as soon as he opened his mouth. They both watched the stars wordlessly for a moment, neither particularly uncomfortable in the silence. “What’s it been like? The whole hero thing?” Clark finally asked. Kevin drew his eyes away from the heavens and looked curiously at his new companion. There was something in the question, a twinge of sadness, possibly regret. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that it had taken Superman a whole week to finally arrive on the scene, Kevin thought, a small frown forming on his face. Where had Clark been during that time? Had he hidden himself away from the world, too ashamed or afraid to get out there and help? As bad as it was hiding away out of a sense of embarrassment or for the sake of image preservation, it had to be a thousand times worse to do so out of fear. Or shame. But Clark had no reason to bow to either anymore, not since seeing for himself what it means to be a hero.
Kevin’s eyes became far away as random images of rescues and disasters, crimes and social events flashed in his vision. “Name an emotion and it’s been that,” he answered, and it was true. Joy, fear, love, hate, frustration, elation. Everything that he had ever felt, he had also felt while in the guise of the hero. “Save someone and you’re on top of the world. Lose someone and you feel worthless. Soar through the air and feel all the joy that comes with being completely free. Use your strength too zealously and know what it’s like to be afraid of who you are. It’s almost indescribable. Sometimes it’s almost unbearable. But I wouldn’t trade a nanosecond of it for anything.”
Clark smiled a pained smile. He understood, Kevin thought. There had probably been some things in that small Oklahoma town that would haunt his nightmares, but surely there had been the moments of elation, too, moments when lives had been saved thanks to him. And the powers had to develop at some point, giving Clark all the fear and ecstasy that came from discovering that you could do things that, by rights, no human being should be able to do. “I want you to know that I have a ton of respect for you,” Clark said, catching Kevin off guard.
“Why?” he asked, curious. Plenty of people admired and respected him, complete strangers who knew only an image and had no idea of just who the man behind it was. As far as the world was concerned, he was some flawless, benevolent being whose sole reason for being was to help, and he was fine with that, really, especially since there were plenty of worse images to project. But surely Clark, someone who had walked down the same roads and been through the same trials and tribulations, someone who had been a hero in his own right, could see through that. And surely he should have no reason to be overly impressed. If anything, Clark should see him as a peer of some sort, on equal footing in every way.
“For having the courage to go out there and experience all that,” Clark replied, adamant. “For not being afraid to put up with all the negatives for the sake of the positives. A lesser man would’ve said to heck with all that and not even bothered.”
Kevin squinted somewhat, noticing the pain that was behind the words. It was as if Clark had suffered through whatever it was that held him back until tonight for far longer than a week. “To have all these gifts and not put them to use would be a crime,” he answered. “But I admit that some of the negative experiences - MOST of the negative experiences, actually - have been worse than I ever could’ve imagined. If you’ve never seen death before, how do you know how to prepare for it? If you’ve never seen destruction close up or experienced violence, how do you know how to respond to it? And don’t get me started on the media.”
“Do you read what’s written about you?” Clark asked, folding his arms behind his head and levitating himself slightly off of the bleachers.
Kevin shrugged. “I did, then I stopped. The things they pull out of the air and print about me are unbelievable. Apparently the going rumor now is that I’m an alien. Me! That would shock the heck out of the folks back in Dubuque.”
“Iowa? That’s your hometown?” Clark asked, and Kevin nodded. He hadn’t actually talked to his parents since Bolt made his debut, and he wondered every now and then if they noticed that it was their son doing all those incredible things they saw on the nightly news. If they did, he reasoned, they would probably be on the phone in a heartbeat. As it was, apparently they didn’t, and he didn’t know if he should be delighted that his costume was so convincing or peeved that they couldn’t even recognize their own son. In the end, it was best just not to think about it.
“Don’t tell me you’re an alien?” Kevin asked, trying to bring a little humor into the situation. Next to him, Clark had a sharp intake of breath, then coughed and let out a humorless chuckle. Even fellow superheroes didn’t appreciate a joke, Kevin thought with a sigh.
“No, no, I’m from Smallville,” he said, and Kevin grunted in response, recognizing the name of the town. “But I’m sure tomorrow, I’ll be branded an alien, too. UFO conspiracy theorists will probably have a field day.”
“I could tell the press that I have a summer home at Area 51,” Kevin said absently, wondering if that might be a worthwhile gag to pull on dense, unsuspecting journalists like the ones who had lined the red carpet earlier that night. After a second, he shook his head and regarded Clark again, this time with a smile on his face. Enough with the heavy subjects, he thought. It was time to get down to business. “Hey, I was wondering...now that you’ve officially been initiated into the superhero club, you want to team up?” Kevin asked, his grin expectant.
“Team up? How?” Clark asked, curious.
“We could tag team disasters,” Kevin said, listing from memory the types of things that fictional superheroes always seemed to do. “Maybe we could institute a patrol and each of us could fly over different cities on rotation. If our hero duties infringe with our personal lives, we could run interference with each others’ friends and, voila, have instant alibis. And if all that leaves any free time at all, we could hang out in a secret fortress somewhere and come up with the official superhero club theme song and hand shake,” Kevin continued, finally coaxing a smile out of Clark.
“If you ask me to sing, you’re asking for a world of pain,” Clark said, and Kevin laughed. Maybe his new friend wasn’t as serious as he had let on at first.
“Then you can be in charge of coming up with the sacred oath,” Kevin said, his eyes twinkling. This was fun, he thought, thoroughly enjoying himself now. The conversation continued on, lapsing into talk about items that weren’t even remotely hero related, things that friends would talk about. And he supposed they could be considered friends now. Share a few deep thoughts with someone and you would hope that they’d at least take enough pity on you to hang out with you for a while.
After another half hour of chatting, they exchanged phone numbers and class schedules and parted company for the night. The next disaster would be Bolt’s, they agreed, and they would take it from there. Tomorrow, after doing homework and taking care of whatever else they needed to do, they would take to the skies, initiating a patrol of U.S. cities that would start with Bolt in Metropolis and Superman in Chicago, and would move every couple of hours to other designated cities. The world would know that Bolt and Superman were there to help, that they were there to stay, and that bad guys best beware. And Kevin couldn’t wait.
