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The Many Shades of Heroes
by
L Mouse

Chapter 3/9

* * * * *

"There's over fifteen thousand Clark Kents in the US alone," Willow said, with a frown. She sat at Lois' computer, fingers dancing skillfully over a keyboard. Clark was quite impressed with the amount of information available on the internet now, compared to what had been there in his world in 1996. Computers were also faster and Lois' connection was lightning quick.

Lois was out buying printer paper for her novel; that gave them time on her computer for some searching.

Clark frowned. "I'm from Smallville, Kansas. We should start the search there. It's a *small* town -- that should make things much easier."

Willow pulled a site up; he realized after a moment's surprise that it was a genealogy site. She was *good* at research; the site had birth certificate information on for the entire state of Kansas. She searched for "Clark Kent" and "Smallville" and found nothing.

He had a brief pang of worry at that. What if he didn't exist at all in this universe? It was certainly possible, though his gut instinct said it was improbable.

"What are your parents' names?" Willow asked.

"Jonathon and Martha Kent," he said, promptly.

Cross referencing his parents's names found nothing on his double, though they found records for both his parents. In his world, they were on his birth certificate because the birth certificate was forged by a sympathetic doctor.

"I'm adopted," he said, reluctantly.

"Do you know what your birth mother's name was?"

"You won't find her in anything online, though." He shook his head. That was a total dead end for reasons he couldn't elaborate to Willow. Fortunately, Willow didn't press the point. She did give him a curious look.

Instead, she asked, "Where did you got to college?"

"Midwestern," he said, "I was on the football team, too. Do you think they have a website?"

She shrugged and went to Classmates.com -- a search of his graduation year, and a couple years before and after, found two Clark Kents and a Kent Clark. More searching found Web sites for two and a blog -- which turned out to be an online diary -- for the third. Two sites had photos that definitively proved they were not his double. The third guy's profile mentioned growing up in Florida and a sister named Julie. That was obviously not the right person either.

"Classmates isn't comprehensive," Willow said. "He may just not have registered on it. Many people don't."

Clark ran a hand through his hair. "Any other ideas?"

"Sure. I could spend all day at this," Willow said. "In fact ..."

She searched Smallville's property tax records and found nothing. "Well, at least we know he doesn't own property in Smallville."

"He could be anywhere." Clark felt like pulling his hair out in frustration. "I traveled the world before I settled down in Metropolis. And I mean, really, the entire world. Never stayed more than a few months in one place."

Willow asked, with curiosity, "What made you stop in Metropolis?"

"Not what, who," he responded, quietly, fingering his wedding ring. He missed her so very much.

Willow glanced at his ring, then gave him a small smile. "I can try a few locater spells if you'd like, but given that none of us actually know the other Clark or have anything of his, I'm not sure how effective they'll be."

"Magic," he breathed out. "It's worth a try, I suppose."

An hour later they established, *Not very effective at all*

The spells insisted that Clark was in Metropolis -- and she narrowed the spell down to a several city block area around Lois' apartment. Willow wasn't sure if that meant that this universe's Clark was practically underfoot, or if the Clark sitting in front of her was confusing the magic. "You guys may have auras so similar as to be indistinguishable. Or he may have landed here just like you did."

"Great," Clark rolled his eyes. "He could be here. There's tens of thousands of people living within a few miles of this apartment. Too bad the spell can't be more specific."

"Sorry. Not without having something of his," Willow apologized.

He blew a sharp breath out. "I think I want to pay a visit to my par... the Kents, in Smallville."

"Don't you think that might alarm them?" Willow said with some concern.

Clark smiled. "They're strong people. They'll deal with it."

"What will you tell them when you talk to them?" Willow asked

"That I'm looking for my twin brother. At least until I know what the status is here. My own parents already know about alternate dimensions; I may be able to tell his as well without a problem. We'll see." He stood up, reluctantly. "Before I go, though, there's some ... research ... I want to do at the library."

"I'll take you there," Willow offered. She stood up.

He gave her a short smile. "It's okay, Willow. This Metropolis is a lot like my home city. I think I can find the library. I've got enough money for the subway, even."

* * * * *

So it wouldn't be a lie he went to the Metropolis Library, but that was mostly to find out if there was a Clark Kent registered there. He pretended to have lost his card and the librarian looked him up by name; she found a dozen Clark Kents in the system. He saw and memorized the addresses for all of them by leaning on the counter and looking charming as she worked. He picked a Clark at random to stand in for himself, paid for the replacement card, then tossed it in the garbage on his way out.

A quick change into the Suit and a quick flight by each address didn't help. He'd try again later; it was the middle of the work day right now.

Smallville was up next. He had decided to fly there rather than simply calling his -- or rather, the other Clark's -- parents. This was the sort of thing that might need a personal touch.

The first clue that something was wrong was the state of disrepair of the Kent family farm. He frowned as he landed behind the barn. Nothing had been painted in years. The barn had a roof badly in need of repair. His father's prized antique Ford 9N tractor was cultivating only cobwebs in a corner of the barn; the tires were flat and the body rusting. It hadn't run in a very long time.

Fences were sagging. The harvest was in, at least; the fields were prickly with corn stubble. Somebody was farming here, although not very well.

He walked up to the front door and knocked. Given the state of the farm he was honestly a little surprised when his mother opened the door. And not necessarily relieved; his parents had always run a tight ship where the farm was concerned.

"Mo...Martha Kent?" He said, when Martha looked at him blankly through a security screen door. That look made his heart sink down to his toes. She didn't know him.

"Yes?" She sounded happy enough to talk to him, though she left the security door latched. He actually approved of that. Although Smallville didn't tend to have much crime one never knew. "What can I do for you?"

"Umm. Mrs. Kent? Hi. Uhh. I'm talking to people in the area because, umm, I -- I'm researching a family mystery." He realized he was stammering and took a deep breath. "My name's Clark ..." he realized he couldn't tell her his last name without causing undue questions. He also decided not to ask about his father; he didn't want to hear. Either they were divorced or his father was dead. Those were the only explanations he could come up with to explain the state of the farm. He was willing to bet his mother was working the fields but one person couldn't do everything necessary to keep a farm running and in good shape. Hence, the disrepair.

His heart clenched in pain. *Oh, mom ...*

She smiled, waiting for him to elaborate. He came up with a question to explain his presence on her porch.

"Umm -- I'm looking for a boy who was found in this area, about thirty-five years ago. He'd have been just a few months old. The circumstances might have been kind of ... odd ... when he was found."

"Odd?" Martha frowned. "What do you want with this boy?"

"He's my twin brother," Clark said, softly. He sent a mental request to birth parents' ghosts for forgiveness for the implied slur and added, "My parents may have left him here. Alone."

Martha brightened suddenly. "About thirty-five years ago, you say? That might have been the day that a meteor hit the Smith's barn ..."

He gave the date of his arrival on earth, with some hope. So the meteor hadn't landed in exactly the same place or the Smiths had put the barn somewhere else than it was in his world.

She nodded, "Sounds about right on the date. Anyway, about a mile away, the fire fighters responding found an infant laying in the road. Dark hair, dark eyes, about three months old."

"That sounds right," Clark said. Hope flared. "What happened to him?"

Martha shrugged. Clark wasn't surprised by the amount of gossip she knew on the mysterious boy; it was the small town grapevine at work. "Nobody ever claimed the little guy. It was treated as a criminal investigation because of the circumstances he was found in. They never found his parents. Everyone in town wanted to adopt him, and the Smiths ended up getting him. We tried to adopt him too, but we were too old ... unfortunately, then the Smiths died when he was about four. Car accident."

Martha hesitated. "We offered again to adopt him, but they said we were too old again. Can you believe that? Instead, they put the poor kid in foster homes. I'm not sure what happened after that."

"Thanks." Clark said. "That's a huge help."

Martha shrugged. "Wish they'd let Jonathon and me adopt him. We were old, but not that old -- we could have handled a boy."

"Do you know where he is now?" Clark asked.

"No, sorry. Though they named him William Clark Smith -- Clark was our suggestion. Funny that you have the same name. It seemed to fit the boy. Though the Smiths called him Bill." Martha smiled again. "If you find out what happened to him, will you let me know?"

"Sure," Clark smiled. "I will. And -- thank you."

"Good luck finding him. It's terrible being alone." Martha's eyes were distant for a moment.

With great reluctance, Clark left.

The next morning, when Martha woke up, she found the barn and house painted, the tractor running, and the fence fixed. It was the least Clark could do, he figured, for the women who would have raised him as her son if she could have.

* * * * *

His next stop was the Smallville High School's journalism classroom, a few minutes after school let out.He wanted to find a picture of William Clark Smith and verify his identity.

He wasn't the slightest bit surprised to find that Ms. Garfield was still teaching journalism -- she'd been the teacher almost two decades ago when he'd been a budding newspaper nerd himself. By his calculations she'd been teaching journalism for forty years now; he expected she'd continue to teach journalism until she fossilized in place at her desk with a red pen in one hand and a Strunk's Guide in the other.

She'd been one of his favorite teachers in high school. He still sent his world's Ms. Garfield Christmas and birthday cards and the occasional letter. She'd called him after he won the Kerth award a few years ago and invited him back to Smallville to talk to her class. He'd been happy to oblige and it had turned into a school assembly.

"Hi," he said, giving her a smile.

She didn't return it. She didn't know him. "What do you want?"

It felt weird not to be beamed at by Ms. Garfield. He hesitated then said, "Umm. I'm looking for my long lost twin brother ..."

Now she smiled, but it was a predatory smile. This story, he suspected, was going to make the school newspaper. He'd have to tread very carefully here.

"I've found out he was named William Clark Smith ..."

Those eyes lit up even further. "Bill! Yes, I remember Bill. I thought you looked familiar when you came through the door. Identical, yes? Goodness, it's been twenty years!"

"Yes. Look, I don't know much, just that he was found here as an infant, laying in the road. My parents ... my parents couldn't care for him anymore, so they left him here. I think they thought a small town in Kansas would be a good place for a boy to grow up." He ran a hand through his hair. "Does he still live around here, by any chance?"

"You're the brother of the boy who was left in the middle of the road?" Ms. Garfield said, acerbically.

"He probably ... crawled. Look, Ms. Garfield, I don't want to be a bother, but I've been trying to find him."

She sat down at her desk, picked up a red pen, and fiddled with it. "I remember Bill. Good kid, even if life cut him a bunch of bad breaks. He was in my gifted program in middle school. I run a class for the gifted kids; they bus them here from Smallville Junior High. He was a brilliant boy. He had an amazing gift for languages; I remember he spoke several -- learned them from books and tapes he checked out from the library. He wanted to travel. A joy to teach. A little rough around the edges, but not a problem child -- though some of my colleagues would disagree."

"What happened to him?" Clark asked with concern.

"The other kids used to pick on him because he was so different from them. Genius level IQ, you know, and his social skills weren't the greatest. Typical system kid -- no consistency in his life and he was a complete moron when it came to dealing with other people. No bad intentions, just no clue. Plus they hassled him simply because he was a foster kid."

She sighed, paused, and continued, "They'd push him and push him until he'd blow up. Call him names, throw things at him, you know -- the usual kid stuff. Then he'd cry and you can imagine what the jocks around here would call a boy who cries. Some of the adults, too, used to call him queer, a fairy, because they could push him and push him until he'd break down and cry. Even the other gifted kids would hassle him. You know he had an IQ of 180? Real shame they treated him like that. I tried to intervene when I could. He was so sensitive, but I don't see that as a flaw in a boy."

Clark swallowed. He'd always been popular in school -- or, if not popular, at least accepted. He'd been a jock, and handsome. The picture she was painting was of a very different boy indeed. Was this really the other Clark?

"One day they pushed him too far. I never did hear what exactly they did. I don't think any of the kids told the real story to the authorities. But he punched a boy -- a football player. Kid never woke up from a coma."

Clark's stomach churned at that. Undoubtedly, it had been an accident -- a little too much strength in the punch. It would have been so easy for that sort of accident to have happened.

She wiped her glasses on her shirt, and said, "He was sent to Juvie for six months, convicted of aggravated assault as a minor. He was thirteen. When he came out ... he was a lot angrier. Nobody wanted him in their class -- I ended up with him in my Journalism class, my English class, and as a student aide in the gifted class, simply because he scared so many teachers here."

"He wasn't violent, was he?" Clark said, with concern. "Other than ..."

"No. But he threatened a few kids when they tried to harass him. Didn't take much threatening from him to convince them to leave him alone, but it didn't do much for his social life either. He was completely ostracized by both the adults and the other kids. The kid he hurt? Richie Chandler ... he was the football team captain. Very popular young man. Nobody was about to forgive him."

Ms. Garfield shrugged. "To his credit he probably could have run with the bad kids. Every school has a few. But he never did. He had standards and it was really clear he'd rather be entirely alone than associate with the usual troublemakers. I don't think he had any friends at all for his last few years here."

Ms. Garfield sighed, "I tried, Clark. He had so much promise. But he ran away when he was fifteen ... the home he was in was really bad and his social worker refused to move him. I even offered to take him when I found out how bad it was but they said they didn't think I could handle him. Stupid social worker wanted him in a 'strict' foster home. Translate that to bible-thumping hippocritical fundie idiots in public; vicious with their kids in private. Nobody's ever heard from him since."

"I see." Clark wasn't happy with this news, but he was more determined than ever to find his double. "I actually came by to see if I could find his photo in one of the yearbooks. You've told me more than I could have hoped."

"Here," Ms. Garfield stood up and pulled a yearbook off a shelf. She flipped through it and found a picture.

William Clark Smith was indisputably his double. Clark said, "Thank you."

"Will you let me know if you find him? I'd like to hear how he turned out. If he's still alive, that is." Ms. Garfield said. "And good luck."

* * * * *

Elsewhere, in Metropolis, the blue-haired woman walked down a busy city street. She was one of a throng but somehow the crowd gave her several feet of space. It wasn't just her hair and outfit; it was also her aura of menace.

Ahead, a blond head bobbed. The woman suddenly broke into a swift, silent run. Blond hair cut short, ankle-length leather duster ...

"Vampire!" She said, grabbing the man by the arm.

He swung around, startled. "What?"

Not a vampire. Not Spike. This man dared to wear Spike's hair and clothes like Spike, but he was not Spike. Not Spike who played video games with her and didn't complain much when she beat him bloody. Not Spike who treated her like she mattered.

"You are not him. You are insignificant."

She tossed him into a wall; he hit with a satisfying crunch. "No one is of significance. All I care about are gone. And this world itself will be gone and I shall reign again when I find a Key."

She walked on down the street without further comment on the matter. The man lay groaning in her wake.