#ready the continuity nukes and prepare for evacuation to AUs

[kamenrideryeets]

You realize that Surge has just... lost her motivation?

She was screaming about destroying the world when she first got the Dynamo Cage, but at this point she's just being casual about fueling her power addiction. She doesn’t mention being “superior” to Sonic. She doesn’t mention Starline. Because it doesn’t matter to her anymore.

Her and Kit just hollowly stare at each other before confronting Sonic and Tails, in an utterly emotionally broken state. 

Look at them. They don't even want this. Any of this. They don't care about it at all.

Ian has literally said his view on this is that Surge can't let go of her hate, because it is literally her only identity. If she stands down in front of Sonic, if she gives up fighting him, she is an empty shell with no meaning and no purpose. And the same goes for Kit leaving Surge’s side. He is literally nothing without her.

At this point, their only motivation is spite. They just don't want Sonic to win.

And walking away, letting go, trying to find a new life, responding to what's happened to them in literally any healthy way, is what Sonic told them to do, ergo, it counts as Sonic winning.

After issue 56, regardless of Surge’s mental state, regardless of the fate of the Dynamo Cage, regardless of the status of the duo’s relationship, whichever way all this unfolds, I AM NOT GOING TO BE OKAY.

[stranger-who-writes-fiction]

the one with the beginning (...okay not THE beginning, but A beginning)

“What exactly got Kara to decide to be Supergirl in the Cool Aunt Kara AU?”--Anonymous question I received like...seven months ago.

Shot answer: I randomly selected 24-ish as the age Kara starts hero-ing, placing us somewhere in 1992. Guess what seminal comic book event took place in 1992?

Long answer:

“Krssssssshhhhhh—headed north along highway thirteen,on foot, but pretty damn fas—rrrsssssshhhhhh—fatalities, this thing literally walked through Mainstreet, and took out—rrrrrrrrsssssssssssssshhh—not—rrrrrrrrrrrrrsssssss—ulated—ssssssssssssshhhhhhhh”

“Come on, come on—”

“Get that thing working, Ron!”

“Gimme a break, Perry, this thing is older than dirt. Who the hell still uses transistor radios?”

“We do, apparently, so fix it.”

Kara can hear the argument from out in the hall, thus she's prepared for the cluster of grim-faced Daily Planet reporters gathered around Ron Troupe's desk.

“Hey, what's—” she starts to ask, but Perry throws up his hand, eyes still trained on the radio in Ron's hands.

“I swear, Ron, you get that thing working or I give your job to Lombard.”

It's probably sheer coincidence that the radio starts working again, but Ron sighs in relief all the same.

“—unsure at this time where this creature originated, as all attempts to detain and question it have proved unsuccessful. Currently, WGBS is working closely with local authorities in order to give you live, up-to-the-minute coverage of this event, and—oh, hold on, we've just—there are new reports coming in, as the creature has reached the outskirts of Mount Royal—”

Kara listens intently, trying to piece together what's going on, but the report is frustratingly vague. She eyes one of the nearby TV monitors; it's on, but there's no picture.

“Perry,” she starts, prepared to repeat her question, but Perry holds up his hand again. Kara worries he's going to ignore her, but then he speaks.

“Something's tearing up highway thirteen, south of the city,” he says. And that much, Kara's gathered.

“Okay, but...what exactly is 'something?'” she asks.

“Nobody knows,” Perry tells her, turning away from the group and stalking back towards his office. A few of the reporters turn to watch him go, but none of them leave the radio—they're hanging on every word.

Kara, however, trots after him.

“The report said—it was some sort of creature?” she frowns. “Like...an animal?”

“It doesn't look like any animal I've ever seen.”

“You saw it?”

“The Daily Star had a copter out, following the thing. Got footage of it tearing up some town out in the middle of nowhere.”

Kara looks back at the blank TV monitors.

“Why aren't they—”

“Copter went down,” Perry grunts.  

Kara's head swivels around.

“It went down?”

“That thing took it down,” Perry clarifies. “Several, in fact. The only time I've ever been glad we lost out to the competition.” He takes a breath, and pinches the bridge of his nose, looking pained. “That wasn't—I shouldn't have—people are dead—”

Kara swallows thickly, anxiety mounting. This thing—whatever it is—sounds like a problem.

The kind of problem she could probably fix.

Because as Perry continues to explain the carnage they witnessed on the news this morning, it becomes clear that the police can't stop it, the military can't stop it...

It just keeps plowing ahead towards Metropolis, destroying anything and everything standing in its way.

…I can stop this, is what Kara realizes, as Perry's voice fades into meaningless ups and downs of intonation, and she listens, instead, for something that doesn't belong. Something foreign, unnatural.

Alien, she thinks, a little forlornly. But she doesn't have time to dwell, because not too far outside the city—it's there.

Large, by the sound of it. Large and...and definitely not human, but then, like Perry said, it's not an animal.

“—Kent!” Perry yells sharply, and Kara jumps. “Are you listening?”

“Uh—” Technically, yes... “Sorry, I'm just—this is bad, right?”

“How very astute,” Perry rolls his eyes. “Yes, Kent. This is bad. We've got some giant, unstoppable monster coming into town, and the last I heard, the military was thinking of nuking it.”

“What?!” Kara yelps. “Nuking it? Here?”

“They're already clearing out Bakerline—and they're trying to clear out Suicide Slum,” Perry grabs his coat and a hand-held recorder from his desk, and storms out of his office, Kara following hot on his heels. “I've been a news man for a very long time, Kent. People will do crazy things, when they want something gone and buried.”

“But people will die—!” Kara protests.

“People are dying already,” Perry says, hastily tugging on the coat, and slipping the recorder into his breast pocket. “I'd say we have...a few hours, tops, before this entire thing goes south.”

“That's...” Kara stares at him, not bothering to hide her horror. “This is insane.”

“Glad we're finally on the same page.”

He turns to address the rest of the newsroom—probably to rally the troops, or maybe evacuate; Kara doesn't know, because she's running towards the nearest stairwell, her brain working almost as fast as her feet.

She can't sit idly by—it's not an option. But...this isn't nudging a drifting eighteen-wheeler back onto the road at three AM; this isn't slowing a run-away freight train, or slipping into the Smiths' burning barn to make sure their cows get out alright.

This is a monster, in broad daylight, coming straight for Metropolis, with the police and the military and just about every news channel in the nation on its tail.

She runs through these thoughts as she sprints up the stairs—she's nothing but reaction right now, reaction and reflex, pushing forward at a breakneck pace. She's worried that, if she stops, she'll turn back, retreat to the safety of her desk and a pair of hunched shoulders.

Once she's on the roof, though, the wind hits her, as well as the reality of what she's about to do. Her sensible brown shoes skid to a stop just shy of the edge.

They'll come back.

She steps back and paces a bit. They'll come back. Those government agents. They'll find Kal. You won't be able to keep him safe.

She runs her hands through her hair, taking deep breaths. But if you let this happen...people will die. The monster goes free.

And is it worth it?

Keeping Kal safe on a planet ravaged by...by that?

She can hear it, off in the distance, getting closer.

She can hear screams, too.

She runs to the edge, and jumps.

Nearly three thousand miles to the west, Eliza Danvers turns on the news, languidly stirring her morning coffee as she waits for the weather report, while Alex Danvers stubbornly refuses to eat her Cheerios.

“What you're seeing now is...is not a hoax, folks. This appears to be...footage recorded earlier from a news helicopter, just before it was downed—oh, god, what the hell is that thing—?”

The spoon clatters to the floor. Alex looks up from her cereal.

“Jeremiah...” Eliza calls. “You need to see this.”

It's larger up close.

Not necessarily tall, just...Large. Muscled. Wide.

It looks like it's barely contained in the eerie green hazmat suit it wears, jagged tears revealing rough, colorless flesh beneath. Bony protrusions jut from its shoulders and upper back, sharp and menacing.

Kara lands directly in its line of sight—presumably, anyway. Its eyes, or, what she assumes to be its eyes, are hidden behind dark lenses built into the suit.

“You—” Kara starts, somewhat unsure. She has...absolutely no idea how to proceed. But she has its attention now; it's stopped moving, its gargantuan limbs coming to rest at its sides. “You...you have to stop. Please, you're hurting people.”

She waits for some sort of response; some indication that it has, at the very least, heard her. She doesn't really see any ears sticking out of the green suit...

But the creature doesn't move.

Which...was kind of the goal, right? Kara shifts her weight, nervously eyeing the monster, trying to gauge what's going on, what's going through its head. ...If anything. She can't tell with those dark lenses.

(She gets the sense, though, that its watching her very, very closely. And that...makes her feel very, very uneasy.)

“—have visual in three minutes—”

There's the faint crackle of static, followed by some grim muttering—the squad cars are close, and the press is no doubt right behind. Kara doesn't even need to listen all that hard in order to hear the sirens in the distance. She doesn't have much time—not if she wants to get out of this with her 'low profile' intact.

So she tries again. “Do you...do you understand? That you have to stop?” And again, no indication of comprehension. Maybe it doesn't speak English...? It doesn't really look like any species Kara's familiar with...though it could be some sort of...K'hundian offshoot.

She tries a basic K'hundish greeting.

No dice.

She cycles through the other twelve alien languages she knows offhand, and then struggles through a few that she really doesn't.

Nada.

The squad cars are seconds away.

In her frustration, she drops her head, rubbing her temples, muttering in Kryptonese, “Rao, what was I think—”

The backhand catches her entirely off-guard, sending her sprawling backwards, straight into—and ultimately through—a small, grassy embankment.

She lies on the other side, dazed, because that hurt. Her entire side throbs.

She hasn't felt pain like this in...years.

She struggles to sit up, trying to get her bearings, but the monster is barreling towards her, not giving her any time to blink, let alone brace for impact. She's thrown farther this time. Much farther. She hears the traffic but doesn't really register that it's cars—moving cars and vehicles and PEOPLE—until she's face down on a section of highway that hasn't been blocked off.

Two sedans swerve to avoid her, and an SUV doesn't even bother. Just. Runs right over her.

She groans into the pavement, and struggles to her knees.

“The hell?!”

Her head whips up, ready to run, or hide, or strike some sort of deal with these motorists, maybe buy their silence?

But they aren't staring in horror at her—they're looking at the seven-foot nightmare thundering towards them.

It swats a car out of its way like its nothing, and leaps, arms raised, ready to strike.

Kara's prepared this time. She whirls and plants her feet, and essentially catches the creature, hurling it over her shoulder, using its own momentum against it.

It roars angrily as it tumbles across the lanes of traffic. More cars honk and swerve and crash. The sirens are right behind them now. And Kara can hear larger vehicles on the way.

She has to get this thing away from people.

But she has...no idea how to do that.

This is a fight, and she's never been in a fight before. She did punch Dev-Em once, back on Krypton, but that was hardly a fight. His nose started bleeding and he ran back home to his parents.

This thing...does it even have a nose?

Kara shakes her head, wondering if her frenzied thoughts are the result of mild hysteria, or doing a face-plant on asphalt. Probably a little bit of both.

She launches herself at the creature's back, intent on forcing it away from traffic, and further into the rural areas outside of the city.

It's like hitting concrete.

Except not, because Kara can crush concrete with minimal effort. This...this is...something else entirely.

She feels something snap in the general vicinity of her right shoulder. The creature grabs her by her injured arm and slams her into the ground.

“Hnnng,” Kara wheezes into the dirt before it's got her by the arm again and okay, okay. No more messing around.

She waits until she's eye-level with the monster, staring into those black lenses. A dull blue glow is reflected back at her—Kal calls it 'heat vision.'

And she's just about ready to let it have it, but there's something odd about the reflection.

With sudden dread, she realizes why that is.

It's not a reflection at all—it has heat vision too.

“You're Kryptonian—!” Kara shouts, just as the world goes white.

“I don't know, the image—it's blurry footage—”

“I understand that, I do. But, look, that has to be—”

“You're making assumptions.”

“I'm—alright, it's maybe a stretch, but look at it. Humanoid, bipedal, exhibiting a degree of invulnerability—”

“But what about the spikes Jeremiah?”

“It could be some sort of...mutation?”

“No, no, that doesn't track...”

Eliza and Jeremiah go back and forth, the discussion heated, intense.

Alex takes the opportunity to turn her Cheerios into a nice, neat pile of milky mush. It's really coming along, in her opinion.

“—doesn't matter, that's all theoretical, based on the Luthor Model and--”

“Not anymore, it's not!” Jeremiah jabs at the small TV set on the kitchen counter. The news has been running the same footage, over and over, as they wait for word on the mysterious, dangerous thing terrorizing the outskirts of Metropolis.

“We still don't know—oh, wait a minute, wait a—we have new footage. We have new footage!” The anchorman's face is replaced by more grainy, shaky video—this time taken from the ground. Twisted metal is visible along the bottom of the screen—a totaled car.

The reporter on scene breathlessly describes how he pushed past the police barricade and five car pile-up and, honestly, it has to be the dumbest move, putting himself that close to something so demonstrably deadly, but the camera man does have the clearest shot of the monster, and...

A...young woman? Fighting it?

Fighting and losing.

“Call Emil,” Eliza says, but Jeremiah is already tripping over himself, running for the phone.

So, the revelation that this thing is...in some part...Kryptonian—that's...not as helpful as one might think.

Because sure, it's nice to know that the thing is capable of flash-frying her with its eyeballs, so she can avoid said flash-frying, but. There's not much else she can do with this knowledge.

Kryptonians are nigh invulnerable, beneath a yellow sun.

She tries to remember if her parents said anything, about what could hurt them. Her and Kal.

Certain kinds of radiation...

She dodges a punch and throws herself up and over the creature, careful to avoid the spikes. She wraps her arms around its thick neck, and squeezes.

Very specific kinds of radiation—radiation not found on this planet.

...Grife.

She curses under her breath, tightening her hold as it bucks and flails and fights her. She hangs on, just barely.

She can feel its strength flagging—they might be super strong, and basically impervious, but they definitely have to breathe.

The creature lurches—she thinks maybe it's going to go down.

It does. Violently. Throwing itself backwards, pinning her beneath its body. One of the spikes catches her side, tearing through her jacket, drawing blood.

“Hrrrng—!”

The monster gets up, and she curls in on herself, favoring the side that's been hit. The situation is...basically awful. Kara is certain that it can't get any worse.

Which means, of course, that it does.

“Clark Kent?”

The vice principal stands at the front of the classroom, interrupting Mrs. Simmon's lesson on the emperors of Rome.

Clark blinks, more surprised than nervous, even as the class breaks out in whispered 'ooooooh's and 'someone's in trou-ble...'

“Yes?”

“Why don't you come with me, son,” is all the vice principal says. Clark doesn't even know his name—he's never been in trouble, and he's never been called out of school.

Today, he thinks he might be both.

He gathers his things; the vice principal doesn't protest, so Clark guesses he won't be coming back. They walk out into the hall, and on towards the front office in silence.

“Um,” Clark finally works up the courage to speak. “Did I....do something wrong?”

“No, no...” the vice principal tells him. The man's heartbeat doesn't change, so he's not lying, but...he still looks very uncomfortable. “Your parents are here, they're...they're waiting for you, in the attendance office.”

“Oh.” Clark isn't sure why something like that should be so upsetting. “Did they say...why they're here?”

The man tugs at his tie.

“There's ah...the news this morning...” he says. “...There's been some trouble, in Metropolis. I guess...I guess your cousin's out there? Out East?”

And all at once, Clark is nervous. Just as nervous as the adult walking beside him, if not more so.

Because if something is happening out in Metropolis...something that could potentially harm his cousin...something that's worrisome enough to have Ma and Pa coming to pull him out of school?

Well.

That's very troubling indeed.

“—ces have been powerless against this...this creature, and the military is prepared to engage, in spite of the fact that there appears to be a...a civilian, taking it on...directly. I...I honestly...I'm seeing it but I'm still not really believing it, it's—oh, God, it's here, it's he—”

Forty-five minutes.

She keeps it out of Metropolis for forty-five minutes, distracting, redirecting, pushing back as best she can.

But after nearly an hour of taking a literal beating at the hands of a super-strong Kryptonian monster that can match her punch for punch (something she's not all that good at to begin with) she's sloppy. She's slow.

She's getting kicked through an office building on Delaney and praying to Rao that the military has, at the very least, managed to evacuate some of the downtown area.

WHUMP!

She lies in the rubble for a bit, struggling to take in a satisfying amount of oxygen. Everything from the neck down hurts, and there's...there's so much sound. Everything is too loud and too close and—

“Did you see—?”

“—faster, we have to move faster!

“I'm seeing it but I'm still not really believing it, it's—oh, God, it's here, it's he—”

She knows that voice—that's the channel twelve news team. She's's picking up a local news report—a Metropolis station.

There are still people in the city.

Of course. Of course there would still be people in the city—she only delayed the monster by an hour. Barely.

Get up. Get up. She wills her arms and legs to do as they're told. They put up a mighty protest but, in the end, they bend to her will.

(They bend...a little too much, actually. At the knee, to be specific, once she's struggling to stand. She has to lean against a ruined wall for support.)

She'd like a little more time to recover, and maybe wait out the fuzziness that's plagued her eyesight since that thing used its heat vision on her, but the sounds of destruction pull her from the ruined interior of the office. She's still too rattled to fly—all she can manage is a few measly leaps over some tall buildings.

And then she's right back where she started—The Daily Planet. The plaza out front is unrecognizable—chewed up and littered with wrecked cars, rubble, broken glass. People run, screaming, from the rampaging monster.

“It's the god-damned apocalypse!” some guy yells as he flees. “Freakin' doomsday!”

Kara decides this is an apt description.

She doesn't quite stick the landing, as she comes to a halt twenty feet from the bellowing monster. She barely makes any noise as she stumbles, but the creature's heightened senses pick it up.

It turns. It's long since burned through the lenses; she has a clear view of red, serpentine eyes. Eyes that reveal a thinking mind—a consciousness. An awareness.

And that, more than anything else—more than her reluctance to engage in violence, and her overwhelming lack of experience in that area—that's what's held her back. The only way to stop this monster is to destroy it.

And Kara...

Kara doesn't think she can do that.

It charges. She doesn't have the strength to go on the offensive. She digs her feet into the ruined asphalt and throws her arms up.

The resulting clash shatters windows as far out as the harbor.

Kara grits her teeth in an attempt to stop the disconcerting sense that her entire skeletal system has been torn loose from its figurative moorings, and silently marvels that she still has teeth to grit.

She's grappling with the monster, hands straining against its much larger fists, absently noting the unstoppable force, immovable object situation before her.

She's not the unstoppable force in this equation, and she's having a hard time maintaining the 'immovable object.'

As she struggles, the ongoing sounds of the the surrounding panic wash over them. People are still screaming...but littered through the incomprehensible shouts...

“...We have clearance.”

“But there are people down there, the area's not—”

“Just do it.”

She inhales sharply, thinking back to the conversation with Perry.

They really are going to try and destroy this thing with a bomb.

The monster capitalizes on her momentary distraction; a spiked fist sends her sideways into the front steps of the Planet. She hardly feels the hits now, which is both disconcerting and freeing. She pushes herself upright, thinking fast.

It has to be stopped. That much is obvious. But it has to be stopped by her. Because otherwise...otherwise people die.

The realization is heavy, coming to rest on her exhausted heart and lungs, chest constricting at the thought.

She has to kill it.

And she wishes she had time to process that—to wrap her head around the fact that she has to end its life in order to preserve the lives of others. Does it deserve it? Does it know that it's hurting people? Did it have a choice in becoming...this?

But the monster prepares for another charge.

And a B-52 heads for downtown.

Someone yells for help.

Someone else prays.

Kara thinks about the fact that one of the few things that can hurt a Kryptonian...is another Kryptonian.

“Zhalish khap,” she murmurs; whether it's to the monster, or Rao, even she's not sure.

The creature jumps, a terrifying onslaught of unchecked power and directionless fury, and raises its fists for a killing blow.

Kara does the same.

** In the years to come, a few witnesses will tell of the power of these final punches, that they could literally feel the shockwaves. Others will remember the enormous crater that resulted from the sheer force of the blows. But most will remember this sad day—as the day that —**

ALIEN LIFE CONFIRMED? MYSTERY WOMAN STOPS EXTRATERRESTRIAL MONSTER FROM DESTROYING THE PLANET—PROMPTLY VANISHES.

Kara is certain that she is dead.

It's dark and it's quiet. And it's the quiet that really unnerves her, because her mind is never quiet.

It is varying degrees of loud. Sometimes more, sometimes less.

But never quiet.

She can barely remember a time when she didn't have to share head space with half a county. It has always been a negotiation, an allotment of volume and attention.

So, yes. She must be dead. That's the only explanation.

“—Danvers keeps calling, not sure how much longer Dr. Hamilton can field them.”

“Oh, damn.”

“I know, right?”

“No, the syringe broke again.”

“Oh...damn.”

...Okay, perhaps she is not as dead as she suspected.

“...hhrrrrrrgn,” she says. “Mmeyeded?”

“...Did she just...?”

“...Yeah, I think she did.”

Kara tries again. “Am I dead.”

There is a long pause.

“...By human standards...yes.”

Kara finds herself nodding, because, sure. That sounds reasonable. Dead by human standards.

...Human...

She gasps, and sits upright, and opens her eyes, all at once, which proves to be her undoing. Too much stimuli, too much movement, too much...everything.

But as she falls back and passes out, she can't help but fret over the fact that...whoever these...disembodied voices are, they know her secret. Or. They’re well on their way to knowing her secret.

That she's not human.

Round two goes just as poorly as round one. Round three is marginally more successful, in that she's able to keep her eyes open for a full five seconds, and even distinguish some blurry shapes that may or may not be other people.

(...Or maybe potted plants?)

Attempts four-through-eleven are not nearly as dramatic...just a few fleeting moments of lucid thought before she falls back into a dreamless sleep.

Ultimately, it's the twenty-seventh time that's the charm.

“Easy, easy.” An unfamiliar voice coaches her as she blinks against harsh white lights. “You've been through quite an ordeal, Miss....Kent, is it?”

Kara doesn't answer. Wouldn't answer, even if she could.

Someone else, though, answers for her. “Yes.”

She frowns, still adjusting to the light. “Jn'than?”

“Hey, Sunshine,” she feels a callused hand take her own, and a welcome sense of relief soothes her slightly erratic heartbeat—she's...so glad to see him.

Well. Hear him, mostly. He's just a blurry blob, at the edge of her peripheral vision.

“Hnn,” she says back, ever eloquent.

“You'll find that your vision will be a bit...limited for the next few minutes. Try not to blink too much, and don't expend too much energy just yet...your system is still...ah...repairing...itself?”

That unfamiliar voice intrudes once more, and tension involuntarily seeps into her muscles. Her grip on Jonathan's hand tightens.

“Whoa, now, it's okay,” he says gently. “That's just Dr. Hamilton. He's a Xenobiologist here at STAR labs...fortunately, his team got to you before the media or the military did.”

It takes a moment for the memory to return. Facing the creature; using her own invulnerable Kryptonian physiology as a weapon against it.

She'd been so preoccupied with stopping it, she hadn't really considered the...morbid consequences, of leaving behind two alien corpses.

She shudders, turning her head away and squeezing her eyes shut.

Jonathan gives her hand a sympathetic squeeze.

“'s Martha here? Is Kal?” she rasps.

“Both back in Smallville,” Jonathan says, “which you should be glad for—Ma's gonna have some choice words for you, young lady.”

He's teasing her, Kara can tell. But she still feels inclined to defend herself.

“Had to stop it,” she argues.

Jonathan's chuckle sounds watery.

“I know, sweetie,” he tells her. “I know.”

“Now this...this is...it's all very theoretical, at this point,” Dr. Hamilton leads with the disclaimer, “but...but what we've gathered, thus far, based on...well. Based on...you, is that the Kryptonian system, when pushed to its absolute limit, will undergo a sort of...regenerative cycle, during which the solar energy stored in your cells is diverted solely to repairing the sustained damage. Now...to us humans, this looks a great deal like...either a very deep coma, or, well. Death. But in all honesty, it's a little more like...like when a plant goes dormant in the winter.”

It's several days later, and Kara is almost back to normal. The vision in her right eye is still a bit...off, and the puncture wound on her side is still healing.

“So I'm like...a plant,” Kara says slowly.

Dr. Hamilton nods.

“Or a battery.”

“That's...” Kara's brow furrows. “...Okay. Okay, sure.”

On some level, she knew this. Though her parents had been a bit...vague, in terms of explaining how Earth's yellow sun would affect them, the general...idea was easy enough to intuit.

More specifics had been stored on the Sun Stones, of course, but. She'd never been able to get those to work.

So hearing someone explain the particulars, for the first time in...over a decade.

It's...

It's not unwelcome, but it's...

Certainly something to think about.

“Unlike a plant, however,” Dr. Hamilton forges on ahead, either indifferent to Kara's pensive expression, or just oblivious. “I...don't believe your body could take the strain of something like this routinely. Or...ever again, really.” He consults some of the papers in the file folders on his lap. “Of course. It's hard to say for certain. As you know, we had a very narrow window of time to gather samples, while your invulnerability was limited, so we weren't able to perform all the necessary tests to be conclusive, but—”

Kara nods, reading the data on the papers with her good eye. Some of it looks like the test results from her stay at STAR Labs.

Other pieces of information, though, look like they're from...some sort of book, or paper.

She scans the excerpts, gaze coming to rest on a word that rattles something, at the back of her mind. “Who is...E. Danvers?” she asks, the name familiar.

Dr. Hamilton looks a little startled at the question.

“Ah,” he says, eyes darting to the page, and then back to Kara. “Right, yes. That's...” he squints. “You can see that? From all the way over there?”

Kara nods.

“Incredible,” Dr. Hamilton murmurs, looking a little lost in thought. Kara leans forward slightly.

“Uh, Dr. Hamilton?” He stares. “E. Danvers?”

“Oh, right, yes,” he blinks several times, and Kara notes that he almost seems to be stalling for time, as he looks down at the files. “A colleague,” he says. “Yes, a...one might say something of an expert on the subject.”

“There are...experts?” Kara asks, more than a little uncomfortable, given that the 'subject' is essentially her.

“In a sense,” Dr. Hamilton offers her a warm smile—he's finally caught on to the fact that this is freaking her out, so he attempts to reassure her. “It's a small field, though. Really only three or four individuals with viable research.”

“Oh,” is all Kara can think to say.

Dr. Hamilton asks her a few questions after that, taking careful note of her answers. Kara's attention is elsewhere, however. Namely, it's on the files in Dr. Hamilton's hands.

“Do you think I could see their research?” Kara asks, once Dr. Hamilton is finished.

He's distracted, gathering his things and preparing to leave. “Hmm?”

“The other experts. Their research on aliens,” Kara clarifies.

“Oh, there's really no need for that,” Dr. Hamilton explains with an easy smile. “Anything you'd need to know, any questions you have,” he gestures to the room around them, but it's clear he means the entire facility, “STAR Labs can help you.”

And Kara has no reason to be suspicious of Hamilton, or STAR Labs. Thus far, they've been extremely helpful, entirely cordial. Jonathan says their coffee is top notch.

Still.

Hamilton's response isn't quite as...reassuring as he intends it to be.

“...Right,” Kara smiles back, “of course.” She's a reporter—she knows what it looks like, when your source doesn't want to share the limelight. She dismisses Dr. Hamilton's reluctance as pride, nothing more. “Thank you, again. For...everything.”

She genuinely means it, because STAR Labs has been a great help. She owes them...her life, possibly.  

That doesn't stop her from making a quick note on a prescription pad, once Dr. Hamilton's said his goodbyes and left the room.

Find E. Danvers.

“So, this brick comes out of nowhere, and I—”

“Can you write?”

Kara blinks, adjusting her new glasses.

“...What?”

“Write.” Perry repeats. “Compose. String words together in a coherent manner. Can you still do your job?” he wants to know.

Kara blinks again.

“Well....yeah. Yes, I can.”

“Then that's all I need to hear, Kent,” he says in a gruff tone that suggests she's dismissed. Kara slumps, more than a little disappointed that she doesn't get to finish the rest of Martha's carefully-crafted cover story.

She gathers her things and heads for her desk.

“Kent!” Perry barks as she walks away. She glances back, confused. “What are you doing?!”

Her brow furrows. Is this some sort of trick question? “I'm...getting back to work?”

“Jeezus Kent, take a sick day. You've had severe head trauma,” he rubs his face, muttering under his breath as he turns and stalks back into his office. “Go home.” Kara watches him go, smiling a little.

Aw. He does care.

In the end, she's grateful for the forced time off. It gives her a chance to retreat to the relative safety of Smallville, and figure out...where to go from here.

“That's so cool,” Clark says, a little breathless, as he watches the fight play out on TV. Though news coverage of the event is tapering off some, specials are now being aired regularly; hastily produced 'documentaries' on the Discovery Channel, 60 Minutes interviews with known conspiracy theorists...Kara saw in the TV listings that there's going to be some sort of celebrity variety hour to raise funds for one of those new 'Humans First' groups that have been springing up.

“Not how I would describe it,” Kara teases him a bit. Clark ducks his head, belatedly realizing how his statement must sound.

“Not the part where you get your butt kicked, obviously,” he says. “But. The other part. That had to feel good, right? Using your powers to help people?”

Kara can't help the small smile that tugs at the corners of her lips.

“Yeah,” she admits. “Yeah, it felt pretty good.”

“Are you gonna do it again?”

Kara frowns, not understanding the question. “What?”

Clark turns from the TV, but does not leave his spot on the rug. “Use your powers. To save people, and stuff.”

Kara rubs the side of her face. “I already do. You know that, Clark.”

“Save people for real,” Clark says, excited. “I mean. Stopping bad guys and stuff!” he throws a right hook. “Not just...checking on cows and trucks and cats in trees.”

“Let your cousin be,” Martha says, causing Clark to jump a little. “She's supposed to be resting, remember?”

“Aw, she's rested,” Clark argues. He turns to Kara. “You're rested, right?”

“Getting there,” Kara tells him with a smirk.

“Go on and finish your homework,” Martha says. And though Clark looks like he wants to do anything but, he dutifully obeys, trotting up the stairs to collect his backpack.

“I'm gonna bring it downstairs!” he calls over his shoulder.

“Fine!” Martha replies before joining Kara on the couch.

“Is he right?” Kara asks, once Martha's settled. “About the whole...saving people 'for real' thing.”

“He's twelve,” Martha reminds her. Kara sighs, and grabs one of the throw pillows.

“I know, but I mean...” she twists the pillow in her grip, “there's cows, and then there's that,” she nods towards the image on the TV—it's just barely possible to make out two small, smoke-obscured figures fighting in downtown Metropolis.

“I'm sure if you'd asked Bill and Edie, they'd say you saved them 'for real,'” Martha counters. “Those herds are their livelihood.”

“I just—I can do more,” Kara abandons the pillow, and stands to pace. “I've always been able to do more but I was so worried about Kal, about those government guys finding us but now...now there are giant Kryptonian monsters that exist, apparently? So who knows what else could be out there, and...and it—it doesn't seem—” she groans in frustration, hunting for the right words. “It doesn't seem right. To hide anymore.”

She looks to Martha for advice, or comfort, or both—yes, definitely both—and Martha smiles softly, standing to wrap her in a hug.

“Are you asking for permission? It sounds like you're asking for permission.”

“Um.” Kara thinks about it for a moment, and then nods into Martha's shoulder. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“You're twenty-four.”

“I know, but I mean—”

“You don't need our permission to help people.”

“I know, but—”

Martha steps back, and laughs.

“Yes, Kara. Yes. You have our permission to save the world.”  

It's a joke, obviously. But. She's still relieved to hear it. “...Thanks.”

“But you can't save the world in sweaters and slacks,” Martha says suddenly, and pulls her towards the kitchen. Kara doesn't disagree, but the conversation has taken such an unexpected turn, she has no choice but to stammer a little.

“I...can’t—what?”

“Also I'd imagine you'd want to keep your hero work separate from your...what would you call it. Civilian identity?” she continues, and opens one of the cupboards in the corner that Martha has graciously given to Jonathan to serve as his 'office.'

She pushes aside some yellow legal pads, a number of phone books, and removes a sheaf of crinkled papers.

Kara tries to get a good look at them, but Martha's already making a beeline for the dining room table, and it's only once she's spread the papers out that Kara can see the contents.

She stares at them for a long while, taking in the pencil sketches and fabric samples.

Slowly, she grins.

“You've...been planning this,” she says, thinking of the glasses, and Martha’s cover story.

Martha nods firmly. “Since you were fourteen. Just, you know. In case.” She crosses her arms. “Do you like it?”

Kara touches the corner of one of the sketches.

“Very much.”

“Because we can certainly change it, if you don't. And I thought—I thought that crest might be nice? Right...” she ducks into the kitchen, and returns with a pencil in hand. “Right here,” she points to a vacant area on one of the designs.

Just beneath the collarbone. Like the shirt she'd arrived in, all those years ago.

Kara nods, and Martha takes a step back. “Of course, you'll have to draw the 'S.' I don't remember how it goes.”

Kara's reply is soft—not a reprimand, but rather, a recitation.

“It's not an 'S'....” she says.

Of course she'd pick a slow news day. Of course.

She keeps listening in on the squad car patrolling Centennial Park, but there's nothing.

Which...is a good thing. Obviously! That nothing terrible is happening.

Kara sighs and picks up the phone, ready to call up UC Berkeley and continue her search for the other individuals on that list, starting with E. Danvers.

But a burst of static, followed by an unfamiliar tangle of cop-speak has Kara rushing for the stairwell once more. (She makes a note to ask some of the senior reporters what a 'ten sixty-five' is.)

As she races to the roof, she's struck with a profound sense of déjà vu. It hasn't even been a month yet, and here she is again, staring at the Metropolis skyline, filled with apprehension and uncertainty.

Her fingers hover over the buttons on her shirt. If she thought there was no going back before, well.

She almost finds herself thinking of Kal again. ‘Do it for him.’ But....no. That's not quite right. Not anymore, anyway. Even if she's not sure about this, she is certain of one thing: she can do more.

Her cape unfurls in the late autumn breeze.

She runs to the edge, and jumps.

Another day, another satisfying pile of mushy cheerios.

Alex has added banana slices to the mix this time, to great effect. She's looking to see how she might procure some apple sauce for this endeavor, but. Judging by the stern glare her mother's giving her—that's probably out.

“Alex Danvers,” Eliza shakes her head. “Food is for eating. Not playing.”

She takes the cheerios away, which. Is a setback, certainly.

But Alex still has the bananas to work with, so. All is not lost.

“Is Emil still stonewalling us?” Jeremiah joins them in the kitchen, and takes a moment to appreciate the structural integrity of the banana mush.

“I just don't understand it,” Eliza shakes her head, and leans against the counter. “In all the years we've known him, Emil's never been...territorial.”

“That we know of,” Jeremiah reminds her. “He's never had access to a live subject before, he's probably...I don't know. Gone mad with power,” he shrugs, and then, his face darkens. “...I...certainly hope the subject is still alive.”

“Jeremiah,” Eliza hisses, even though it...is a valid concern. “What about those...those sightings. Out in Metropolis?”

“Everyone in Metropolis is crazy,” Jeremiah tells her, shaking his head. “You're talking about that kid with the cape, right?” Eliza nods. “Hon. No one in their right mind would put that kind of a target on their back, and in primary colors, no less—”

Jeremiah's interrupted by a knock on the front door. He turns, confusion apparent in the downward pull of his mouth.

“The mail already came,” he says, even as Eliza makes her way to the front entry. “A package, maybe?”

“It would have to be, we aren't expecting anyone...” Eliza replies. She reaches for the doorknob, and Jeremiah snaps his fingers.

“Ah, no, you know what? It's probably Nick, from down the street,” he joins his wife near the doorway, ready to intercede. “He borrowed our lawn mower two weeks ago.”

“Sshhh!” Eliza insists, not in the mood to deal with an insulted neighbor. She opens the door and it...is not Nick.

It's a complete stranger, actually.

A nondescript twenty-something in a sweater and glasses, fidgeting nervously on their porch.

“Oh, ah,” it's Eliza who recovers first, as Jeremiah is busy preparing some sort of excuse as to why they can't commit to another magazine subscription. “Hello...”

“Uh...hi,” their strange visitor says brightly, offering a jaunty, if small, wave. “Are you—um. Is this the Danvers residence? Are you,” the young woman looks down at a crumpled Post-It note, ”Eliza and Jeremiah Danvers?”

“Yes,” Eliza says, and Jeremiah adds, with a suspicious squint, “can we help you?”

The young woman folds the Post-It note, twisting the paper between her fingers.

“I...I think you already...ah. Did.”

By now, both Danvers are hopelessly confused.

“I'm...sorry. We don't understand,” Eliza says, and their visitor laughs lightly.

“Yeah, I'm—I'm realizing now this was maybe not the way to go. I didn't really think this...um. Just one—”

Maybe she says second. Or minute. Neither Danvers can be certain, because the end of that sentence is lost on a deafening breeze that kicks up, as the young woman appears to vanish before their very eyes.

Another gust blows in, and she's back. Sans glasses, and wearing that bright costume that's been popping up in the news lately.

Both Eliza and Jeremiah gape. “You—”

“You're—”

“My name is Kara Zor-El,” the young woman tells them, “and I came to say 'thanks.'”

Notes:

- **Narration pulled directly from Superman #75 by Dan Jurgens. - ‘Grife’ is an expletive that appears in Legion of Superheroes. Mon-El says it in episode 307, and Kara herself uses some form of it in the tie-in comic.  - Kara has her own iconic comics death; she need not steal her cousin’s, really but. This AU presupposes that the stuff that happened to Clark was not specific to him--those horrible events just befall whatever Super comes first, I guess. - Terrible, poorly-researched comicbook science is terrible.