Heavy Is the Head

The nightmare always ended the same way. That haunted, fading image of his old friend bathed in the blinding blue glow remained seared into Clark's mind even after he was shocked awake. His fingers rubbed at the gritty exhaustion in his eyes, but nothing could erase the dream.

Or the lingering guilt. That somehow, he should have stopped it from happening at all.

Clark could still picture Bruce's face with perfect, painful clarity from that final encounter six years ago. The proud lines of his jaw were highlighted by flickering firelight as he stood amidst the wreckage of the smoldering city. Half his armored cowl had been ripped away to reveal dark blood trickling freely from his nostrils, painting his battered lips a vivid red. Yet his piercing eyes had burned with a conviction Clark had never witnessed in all their years fighting together.

"You're wrong, Bruce," Clark had choked out through the smoke clogging his throat, his shredded cape barely stirring where it lay pinned beneath a collapsed beam. He could only watch helplessly as his friend held aloft the softly glowing artifact, prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice play to end their losing battle.

"You may not see it, but your legacy gives people hope too," Clark remembered how those last pleading words had rattled wetly in his lungs.

Even then, he'd recognized the futility. Once Bruce Wayne set his mind on something, no force on Earth could sway the man. And Clark no longer had the strength left to try. Not with blood splattering freely from his busted lip, metallic tang mixing with the ash on his tongue. Not with a wavering vision that left Bruce little more than a blurry shadow framed by raging fires. The damned stubborn fool had made up his mind.

So Clark could only watch, muscles tensed uselessly against the pinning wreckage as Bruce's face seemed to soften. His bloody smile was almost pitying.

"They need you, Clark. They'll always need Superman."

Those faint words still echoed hauntingly as Clark replayed that last moment over and over. Bruce raising the glowing stone high as unearthly energy builds. The way his proud silhouette seemed to waver at the edges, blurring into the chaotic flames.

And then nothing but a silent explosion of blinding blue light. Searing pure energy that swallowed the area, the raging fires...and Bruce along with it.

Clark scrubbed at his bleary eyes once more, trying to shake off the haunting traces of the dream. But exhaustion still clouded his mind like a fog. He blinked slowly, orienting himself to the cozy surroundings of the living room.

The muffled thump of the dryer hummed to life in the other room. The warm vanilla scent of Lois's perfume, mixing with subtle hints of detergent and fabric softener wafted from the heaping laundry basket balanced on one cocked hip. Clark noted the careworn laugh lines crinkling at the corners of those familiar blue eyes behind a wisp of escaping silver hair as his wife leaned down to steal a quick peck on his forehead.

"You were dead to the world when the boys left," Lois remarked, her tone gently teasing as she turned back to hunting down stray socks. "I swear Joel leaves a trail like breadcrumbs wherever he goes."

Clark scrubbed a hand roughly over his face once more, willing the last echoes of the nightmare to fade. But that final image of Bruce consumed by the light still lingered stubbornly behind his eyes.

"What time is it even?" he mumbled, raking both hands back through his hair.

Lois paused her efforts, with a sympathetic smile that told Clark she sensed where his thoughts had drifted. She had always been able to read him too easily. "Nearly half past eight, honey. I figured you deserved the chance to sleep in for once."

Her eyes searched his face, soft with understanding. "Was it the dream again?"

Clark released a heavy sigh into the lingering silence, feeling the familiar weight of self-doubt threatening to press down upon his shoulders. He let his head slump forward, focusing on the soothing sensation of Lois's fingers slowly carding back through his hair.

After a long pause, he finally speaks. "Bruce sacrificed everything because he believed the world still needed Superman. That I could continue being the shining symbol of hope when he no longer could."

Clark's voice drops lower, bitterness tainting the words. "But how can I possibly still be Superman when I can barely make it up a flight of stairs without getting winded? I always relied on those abilities to save people. Without that, I'm useless."

He lifts his head, seeking out Lois's steady gaze. As always, her unwavering faith reflected at him from those intelligent eyes managed to temper his swelling doubt.

"The cape and symbol mattered, Clark. But it was never just about catching falling satellites or battling monsters." She cups his weathered face between both palms, brushing away the last traces of silver hair fallen across his furrowed brow.

"You've always fought for truth and justice way before you ever donned that suit. And you're still fighting now. Putting truth to power with the written word. Giving voices to the oppressed. Holding corruption accountable."

Lois offers him a sad, knowing smile that pierces straight through to his core. "Maybe you can't literally soar over skyscrapers anymore. But the heart that made you Superman, the unmatched compassion and drive to lift others up? That's still here keeping you restless and crusading and knocking annoyingly persistent on the office door every other day pitching some wild investigatory piece."

She smooths one palm down to rest over his chest, feeling the steady rhythm thumping beneath his shirt.

"Super-strength and heat vision didn't make the hero, Clark. That's always been you. It's who you'll always be, with or without the powers."

Lois lifted onto her toes, brushing a soft kiss to his furrowed brow. "So stop being so hard on yourself. And remember Bruce made his choice because he recognized exactly what I still see clearly too."

Clark covers her slender hand still resting over his heart with his own broader palm. Gazing into her eyes brimming with unshakable conviction, he feels something in his chest unclench. And for the first time that morning, take a full, easy breath.

Lois leaned in, brushing her lips tenderly against Clark's. But she quickly withdrew with a muffled sound of mild discomfort, nose crinkling.

"The mountain man look's not gonna fly, mister," she muttered, swiping the back of one hand across her tingling mouth. "You need a shave before you do any more damage with that sandpaper stubble."

Clark lifted an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth quirking as he self-consciously rubbed one hand along his scruffy jawline. "What, going full bearded lumberjack wouldn't lend me that distinguished fatherly vibe?" he ventured lightly, attempting to steer them back toward easier banter.

But Lois simply snorted, shaking her head. "More like the messy vagrant vibe if you let it get any longer." Her lips twitched with muted humor even as she moved across the room to snatch up her loudly buzzing cell phone.

Clark watched her expression shift from wry amusement to resigned frustration the longer she listened. He slowly rose from the lumpy couch, joints cracking in protest, as Lois ended the call with a clipped goodbye.

"Let me guess...our resident trouble magnet got himself into hot water again?" Clark ventured dryly, already knowing the answer. After sixteen years Joel still hadn't quite shed his talent for chaotic misadventures.

Lois sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose against the familiar oncoming stress headache she always developed whenever their eldest pushed boundaries. "Joel claimed self-defense this time. But last I checked, 'self-defense' didn't involve nearly beaning another student with a dodgeball."

She shook her head. "I swear he loves testing the limits of my patience..."

Clark crossed over to her, gently prying Lois's rigid fingers away from her temple to interlace them with his own. "I'll go get him sorted out so you can have a break," he assured, pressing a calming kiss to her furrowed brow. "We'll grab pizza or something on the way home to smooth things over too."

Lois frowned, clearly weighing the need for stern discipline against her desperate craving for an hour's peace. At last, she sighed again, tension leaking from her shoulders.

"Fine, but you two are getting veggie pizza," she conceded with a wry twist of her lips.

She reached up, brushing a thumb along Clark's stubborn five o'clock shadow. "And seriously, shave. I'm not kissing Grizzly Adams again."

Clark chuckled as he turned toward the door, lifting one hand in acquiescence. "Yes ma'am. No more mountain man look, I promise."

Clark shuffled down the front walkway, fishing through his cluttered keyring. The late morning sun beat down, promising yet another sweltering Metropolis summer day ahead.

As he popped open the driver's side door, a booming voice suddenly hollered out from across the street.

"Hey, Clark! Are you still on board to help rig up the fireworks downtown this year for the Fourth?"

Clark lifted a hand to shield his eyes, spotting Bernie ambling over from his driveway, thick white mustache twitching with his usual good cheer.

"When have I ever said no to pyrotechnics, Bernie?" Clark called back, one side of his mouth quirking up. "You know I love tinkering with mechanisms almost as much as I love grilling questionable meat products in public spaces."

Bernie's deep belly laugh echoed across the sun-soaked suburban street. "Wouldn't be a fourth without you manning those charcoals!" the affable man bellowed. "Knew I could count on you not to flake out and leave me handling nitroglycerin solo this year. Not after that eyebrow incident back in '09 with the bottle rockets..."

Clark waved him off, though his grin widened at the memory. In a way, it was oddly comforting to know that even without super abilities, he could still be relied upon for handling explosive compounds and open flames when the occasion called.

"I'll be there with my best fireproof mitts ready," Clark assured, hoisting himself up into his truck.

 ****

Tommy quietly eased the office door open, wincing as the hinges squeaked. He poked his head inside first, scoping out the cramped interior.

There in the corner sat Joel, elbows braced on his knees. His hands dangled limply, though Tommy noted how his fingers periodically clenched and flexed restlessly. Joel's gaze remained fixed on the floor, clouded blue eyes stormy with emotions too complex for Tommy to readily interpret. Anger, frustration...uncertainty. His shoulders held an unfamiliar rigid set to them rather than the casual loose-limbed sprawl Tommy was accustomed to.

Treading softly across the floor, Tommy lowered himself into the vacant seat beside his friend.

"How ya holding up, bro?" Tommy kept his tone light despite the twinge still throbbing through his nasal passages.

At the sound of Tommy's voice, Joel's gaze snapped up, some of the gathering storm clouds dissipating from his expression. "Forget about me, man," he deflected, the barest grin ghosting his lips. "How's the moneymaker holding up?"

He gestured vaguely at Tommy's face and the lurid purplish bruising spreading beneath both eyes.

Tommy flashed a lopsided smirk in return, gingerly fingering the tender bridge of his nose. "Well, my modeling prospects maybe took a hit today. But I'm still devilishly handsome if I do say so myself." He puffed out his narrow chest exaggeratedly. "The ladies can't resist all this for long."

His silly bravado managed to tease an amused snort out of Joel, cracking that unfamiliar mask of tense frustration he had worn since the gym. Tommy counted that minor win as a massive victory.

"You parents coming to get you?" Tommy let the lingering question hang in the stuffy office air for a long moment. He studied Joel's downcast profile, noting the muscle feathering along his clenched jaw. His friend's gaze remained obstinately averted as he gave a terse shrug.

"Yeah, and I'll be lucky if it's just grounding this time." Joel's tone held a bitter edge. "Doesn't matter that Pete basically shoved a basketball up your nose unprovoked. Boomer conveniently missed that part so guess who takes the fall?"

He roughly raked a hand back through his hair before blowing out a sharp breath. "Meanwhile that waste of space gets to walk like always. Where's the justice there?"

When Joel risked a sidelong glance, Tommy offered up an encouraging half-grin despite the plasticky school office chair creaking in protest beneath his fidgeting.

"Hey, at least you standing up to that meathead was pretty epic. Pete's had it coming for a while now." Tommy let his swelling eyes drift toward the ceiling tiles as he carefully weighed his next words.

"Gotta say though, man...that throw? Talk about superhuman. Never seen you clear a whole gym like that, not even when we used to play on your old man's farm team."

He watched Joel shift in discomfort under the subtle weight of his scrutiny. Noted the nerves and uncertainty lurking in the tight set of his narrow shoulders. Joel was prickly by nature when uncomfortable or defensive.

So very casually, barely an afterthought, Tommy probed, "Must've just been a crazy adrenaline rush in the heat of the moment, yeah?"

He watched emotions flit rapidly across Joel's profile before getting locked down: surprise, panic, denial, and then finally a jerky nod as he straightened up.

"Yeah...just a total rush I guess. Had to be." The excuse held a note of desperate hopefulness that made Tommy ache in quiet solidarity. Because he could recognize Joel's desperate need to believe his shaky explanation. Could see the unspoken plea for Tommy to just accept it and let the bizarre moment go.

For now, Tommy simply nodded. But the nagging questions tingling his tongue remained unasked for the present. There would be time later to sort through chaotic mysteries when emotions weren't running quite so high for them both right now.

For today, Tommy just scooted his chair subtly closer until their shoulders brushed in solidarity.

The secretary's shrill voice cut through the tense atmosphere, shattering the moment. "Alright, Mr. Hill, I think that's enough loitering for today."

Tommy jerked upright, nearly toppling his chair before shooting Joel an apologetic grimace. "Guess that's my cue," he muttered, already swiftly backing toward the exit. "Catch ya later, dude."

Joel slumped back, fingers raking ruthlessly through his hair. He sucked in an unsteady breath, held it, then released in a forceful gust. The rhythmic motion did little to settle his ricocheting thoughts though.

Because there was no more denying the impossible truth, no matter how desperately he clung to flimsy excuses and plausible deniability now. The startling feats of otherworldly strength today couldn't simply be explained away by adrenaline or freak coincidences.

Deep down in the pit of his stomach, Joel knew. Just as he'd always secretly wondered if this day might come despite vehemently willing it not to be. That he wasn't just some ordinary awkward teen still trying to figure himself out.

There was something decidedly extraordinary lurking within now. Something that terrified Joel with its world-tilting implications.

He jerked his head up at the scuff of approaching footsteps, relief crashing over him at the familiar form filling the office doorway. Without thought, Joel bolted up and crossed the floor in three long strides.

His arms locked fiercely around his dad's waist, face pressed hard against the faded flannel shirt still holding hints of detergent masking older scents of newsprint and coffee. Joel squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in the comforting nostalgia of his childhood.

"I'm so sorry," he mumbled, the words muffling into Clark's chest. Sorry for the trouble, for the questions he knew were barreling his way, for the way his entire existence might have just gotten turned upside down by something Joel never asked for.

He felt the reassuring rumble of Clark's soft chuckle as a broad palm came to rest against Joel's tousled hair. "Rough first half of the day, huh?" his dad murmured knowingly.