Okay *breathes deeply* here it is. I’ve started with the story around 2018/2019 so I hope it was worth it. 😁 There are a few things I need to say:
1.) thanks to everyone who read, commented, gave tipps, ideas and feedback when I needed it, especially to JadedEvie who did the BR and gave me so much invaluable input. If I forgot to name anyone who should be mentioned for their input, message me, I’ll include you.
2.) There are still some issues in part three and eight, so I’ll probably post slower in the beginning, although I haven’t decided on a schedule, yet.
3.) The story is called *Breaking Point* for a reason, do I’ll give a WHAM warning, to be sure. Evie assured me it is not too harsh but still, I share her opinion that it is better to be safe. Clark will deal with a panic attack, so if you want to know more before reading feel free to message me and I can give more details.
4.) I have borrowed some scenes from Whine Whine Whine and included them in this story, thanks to the writers for giving me this playground. I started writing the story because I felt Clark was in a very bad situation during that episode, I imagined that it wouldn’t take much more to push him over the edge and break down.
5.) I hope you have a box of tissues nearby, just in case.
*** Part 1 - Break Faith ***
Clark Kent stood at the crossroads of his own decisions. He constantly felt the weight of the world pressed upon his shoulders. Today it didn't present itself in the form of crumbling buildings or natural disasters but in the judgment of the people he had sworn to protect.
The suit clung to his broad frame. It had become a second skin that protected him from the dangers of being exposed to the public but also isolated him from friends and colleagues. Over time he had become accustomed to the stares, the curious glances that followed him whenever he was in the suit. But today, as he stepped out of the courthouse, he felt those gazes weigh on him more heavily, adding to the stones that already weighed his soul down.
Every whisper, every muttered assumption rang in his ears like distant thunder. The children's laughter from the park across the street offered only a brief respite from the commotion around him. Still, he closed his eyes for a moment to concentrate on them, letting himself be soothed by their innocence.
“He's hurt that guy!” someone declared.
The accusation hung in the air like a dark cloud.
Another voice chimed in. “I always knew he was dangerous!” The words were laced with contempt.
From another direction, he heard financial speculations. “I wonder how much he's worth!” a man mused. “He's got a gold mine somewhere, it would be easy for him to find one.”
“This Dregg guy has found a way to make easy money,” another guy scoffed. “If I were rescued by him, I'd sue too! Brilliant idea, really!”
The world had always scrutinized him—the Man of Steel, the unwavering symbol of hope. But today, as he listened to the hushed whispers, doubts crept in like shadows across his heart. Was it all worth the weight of that rigid mantle?
Superman moved deliberately, distancing himself from the courthouse and its lingering echoes. He crossed the street, seeking refuge on a weathered park bench. For a fleeting moment, he tilted his face toward the sun, savoring its warmth. Then, with deliberate care, he drew his cape around his body—partly to shield it from snagging, and partly to weave an invisible cocoon of solitude. Beneath the fabric, he carried not just the weight of heroism, but the ache of vulnerability.
The fresh air felt like absolution, washing away the scent of artifice the lawyers left on him, expensive colognes and perfumes that clung to him like guilt. Fragments of their conversations haunted him: lawsuit, worth, countersue. He scrunched his nose, as if he could banish their lingering presence by sheer willpower.
Meeting all of these lawyers had felt like being circled by sharks scenting blood. Arrogant, greedy and power-hungry, they embodied everything he despised. He had seen it, the gleam in their eyes, promising to exploit weaknesses, not just of others, but of him too, if they got the chance.
If he let them, they would first tear apart Calvin Dregg, the musician who dared to sue Superman for damages. But then they would squeeze every cent they could get out of Superman.
Calvin's broken arm was their golden ticket, which they would undoubtedly twist into a fortune, leaving Superman’s image tarnished and stained.
The public might cheer for him at first, oblivious to the hero’s struggles. But it would also fertilize the seed of doubt some of them harbored, and they would forget the countless lives he'd saved. People like Trask, whose fear had curdled into hatred, would remind the public of this, whenever the opportunity would arise. People like Luthor would use this for their personal gain. The Churches would use this to broaden their influence. People like Mayson would lose what little trust they had in him, finding their prejudices confirmed.
Mayson… She'd never liked Superman, yet she would have been more helpful than these legal vultures. For her, the job stood above personal gain.
He closed his eyes. While the sun had warmed his face, his heart was chilled by his doubts.
He whispered to the wind, “Just a few moments.” Time slipped through his fingers, and he remained perched on that bench, caught between duty and vulnerability. The world watched, and he wondered if faith alone could save him now.
A gentle breeze, infused with the scent of banana, chocolate and vanilla lifted him from his dark thoughts. The fragrant memories carried him back to countless childhood afternoons at Shawn’s malt shop, indulging in banana splits. Involuntarily the corners of his mouth curved upward. Those were happier days, simpler times when he and his friends engaged in friendly competitions - like who could devour the most ice cream without succumbing to a brain freeze. Clark always won, though it wasn't until much later that he understood why.
Now, sitting on the park bench, he grappled with the aftermath of saving that man. The rescue had left the man injured and the tabloids buzzed with accusations. Could he try to go without a lawyer and present himself? Surely any judge would recognize that the alternative would have been letting the man die, which would have been worse.
Just then a high-pitched voice shattered through his reverie. “You look sad, Superman!” The child’s eyes held a mixture of joy, awe and concern. Children, unfiltered and genuine, wore their emotions openly. Her innocence stood in stark contrast to the scheming adults he'd faced earlier.
“I'm okay!” he replied, and it was true. But “okay” fell short. He was Superman - the world's beacon of hope. He couldn’t settle for mediocrity. The world demanded more from him than mere adequacy.
“Want a hug?” Joy infused her voice with innocence, pulling Superman from his dreary musings. The little girl beamed, thrilled not only to see the hero in person, but also to be granted permission for a hug.
Superman glanced at the woman who had approached with the girl - undoubtedly the girl’s mother - who silently granted her consent. Sympathy lingered in her eyes, reflecting yet another crack in Superman’s persona.
With a brief nod, he allowed the girl to loop her arms around his neck, squeezing gently. Before releasing him, she planted a quick peck on his cheek. “Don't be a Mr. Gloomy Pants!”
For those precious seconds, the storm of thoughts that threatened to engulf his mind since Mayson’s death receded. “I’ll try.” he replied, smiling back at her.
As the child skipped away, babbling to her mother about how cool Superman was, and how everyone in school would be envious.
Silently, he resolved to be more than just “okay.” The world needed him to be “super,” to rise above doubt and uncertainty. And so, he sat there, cape fluttering in the breeze, seeking solace in memories and finding strength in the sweet scents that clung to the air.
But then another voice reached him - a familiar one. He started, realizing that he hadn’t sensed her approach. Lois Lane, the tenacious reporter, took a seat to his left. Her smile lacked its usual fire, instead a mere echo of life.
“Careful,” she teased. “I might get jealous.” Warmth flooded him until he realized her concern was directed at the infallible cardboard hero, not the very fallible real friend beside her. She didn't know they were one and the same.
Lois had just come from the courthouse. Why? He debated asking her. They weren’t covering Bill Church’s trial; that had ended long ago. The bad guy was free thanks to a sleazebag lawyer who pulled all the right strings.
Lois Lane - the woman who always found the right words when he needed them. She’d been there through every doubt, every hard rescue, every cruel test that Luthor had thrown his way and she didn’t even know how crucial she had been to him.
He had always hoped to share everything with her - first his secret, and then, someday, whatever else she was willing to share. He had known he loved her from the first time he had seen her in Perry's office. He had always hoped that she would develop feelings for him, that they could share everything. The strain his lies had placed on their friendship hurt him worse than Kryptonite.
But how could he expect Lois to accept his complicated life as a superhero? How could they be anything when he perpetually straddled the line between Clark and Superman? He was forever half a man, yet being two men didn't work either.
She would constantly be in danger if his secret was exposed to the world someday.
If he told her, he couldn’t take it back.
Their relationship would change, and it scared him.
“Lois… what are you doing here?” The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered.
Her lips tightened, and her voice dripped with contempt. “Checking out this bum who’s suing you. He’s got quite a record back in England. Loved to sue people. Loved to get sued so he could counter-sue. Now I think that establishes a real pattern…”
Superman clenched his fists. This had to stop. No one else should bear the burden of his problems. His raised hand halted her tirade.
“It would matter if it were admissible,” he sighed, shaking his head. Even if there were a legal loophole, he wouldn’t exploit it. His defense had to be as flawless as his hero persona. So he couldn’t hire any of the lawyers Lois had suggested, and Ms. Hunter had made it clear she wouldn’t take his case.
“You can’t use this? But it proves he’s… he’s vindictively litigious.” Lois’s brow furrowed in confusion. She couldn’t fathom why he’d reject her help.
“Sorry, Lois. Thanks for trying.” His smile held sadness.
“Tell me what I can do to help… please!” Her plea hung in the air. Her hand reached toward him, as if to grasp a piece of spandex or a fragment of his cape. But then she clenched her fist, disappointment etching her features. She’d do anything to help him, but allowing her would only complicate matters. The shimmer in her eyes marked another moment of pain he’d inflicted upon her.
A fresh layer of guilt settled upon him.
“I'm afraid this is a battle I've got to fight on my own.” Clark longed for a hug, a supportive touch, or even a genuine smile. But while these gestures once felt commonplace between them, he could feel the distance between them increase in tandem with the complexity of resolving his legal issues. Their closeness now felt like a distant memory.
He rose from the park bench, ascending into the air, putting space between himself and Lois barely resisting the urge to escape from the hurt he’d seen as a shadow on her features.
Superman was needed elsewhere. His super hearing caught a nearby radio, broadcasting news of a massive rainstorm in East Africa.
“But I-” Lois began, eager to share something else, but her words dissolved as Superman's attention shifted. “Oh no, I had nothing else to say. I was finished… thanks.” Her sarcasm cut through him, but his main focus remained on the live broadcast.
He couldn’t look back, but he sensed another dagger piercing Lois’ heart.
Flying eastward, he tried to recall why the name ‘Muzi Buna’ sounded familiar. Dread settled in as he remembered.
… the small country between Sudan and Eritrea. The water masses have already destroyed parts of the vital infrastructure; government officials are uncertain when they will be able to reach the affected areas. The flooding hit a remote valley in the east. Muzi Buna is one of Africa's…
Clark had stopped to hover high over Metropolis, listening to the news, determining where he was needed most.
Seconds later, nearing the valley in Muzi Buna, he mentally reviewed everything he could about the broader area. He had crossed through Africa during his travels, and he tried to recall everything from politics to ethnic groups, including topography, neighboring countries, and languages. Every detail could help him save lives. He needed to be prepared, to avoid inadvertently aiding one group at the expense of another.
A sigh of relief escaped him as the valley came into view; the damage seemed localized. As he descended toward Muzi Buna, his heart heavy with responsibility, his hopes waned. The landscape revealed a heartbreaking scene - refugees huddled in hastily erected camps, their lives shattered.
He scanned the area, seeking any signs of life. The years as Superman had taught him to filter out the chaotic tumult natural disasters brought with them to hone in on any pleas for help. His superhuman senses strained to detect the faintest cries.
But as always, he faced the grim reality: some would survive if he rescued them, while others would perish regardless of his efforts. He had to force himself to ignore the latter.
He drew a deep breath. Already some units had been sent by the International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies and working their way through the destruction. Should he clear the roads first or prioritize rescuing victims? He chose the latter, knowing that delivering injured people to medical aid was crucial. He'd help clear the roads whenever it was needed.
Feelings - fear, doubt, exhaustion - threatened to overwhelm him. He pushed them aside. No one else possessed his abilities, his unwavering commitment.
And so Superman began his work, a solitary force against nature's wrath.
~~~
TBC
