Okay, here is the second part, as promised. To bring Clark to the point I needed him, this part was necessary. Unfortunately he has to deal with the aftermath of the flooding, which can’t be pretty.
The first part of this chapter includes dead people, they are already dead when Clark finds them but he has to deal with it. If that bothers you, start reading at the point where the LNN reporter comes in or read only the part after the ~~~.
I hope you have some tissues nearby, you might need them.
*** Part 2 - Tough break ***
He despised feeling helpless. Yet after hours of flying through stormy skies, clearing muddy roads and pulling desperate people from the cold sludge, that was exactly how he felt.
Upon reaching the area he'd detected countless heartbeats. Now, finding survivors grew increasingly difficult. The last few heartbeats were weak, barely detectable even when he was near a victim.
Drenched in all manner of substances, he knew that he smelled terrible. After the last long hours, he no longer cared, and the people he carried to hastily erected tents didn’t seem to care either, sharing in his exhaustion.
The dead, of course, felt nothing.
Despite thorough scans, the last injured person he'd found alive had been fifteen minutes ago.
“Go home, Superman,” a rescue worker had suggested in broken English half an hour earlier. “Others need you, too; we'll handle the rest.”
Part of him yearned to comply, but he couldn't. Being Superman, being here - finding the wounded without the risk of endangering the rescue workers themselves - it beat sitting at home, wallowing.
“No! I'm good. I just want to help,” he’d replied before lifting into the air for another round of searching.
And then he saw it - a movement on the right. A hand! He sped over, cradling the little girl he found lying in the mud. With gentle care, he carried her to one of the makeshift emergency hospitals.
He set her down on a stretcher in front of a doctor he'd seen arrive about an hour ago. They hadn't exchanged words; he'd always rushed off to rescue another victim.
“Do you speak English?” He asked as the doctor began her work.
She nodded.
His gaze fell upon the child, who was likely the same age as the one he’d met in the park after leaving the courthouse only hours ago. “How is she?” he asked now, recalling the warm hug and the brightness in those earlier eyes.
Silence met him for a few minutes as the doctor checked for vital signs in the small body. “I'll have her taken to the others, Superman,” she replied, her eyes hollow. “We can't do anything for her. No one in this world can, unfortunately.” She murmured a silent prayer and moved on to check on another victim.
Her words, meant to absolve him of blame, felt like an accusation. He wasn't from this world; he should have been able to help her. If only he'd done more.
“But…” His voice wavered and he swallowed to steady it. “But she moved. That's how I found her!”
“Maybe her hand was moved by falling debris or it slipped off something,” the doctor tried to reason with him. “It seems she died a while ago, considering her body temperature, but with the cold mud and without proper equipment I can’t be sure.” Her sigh carried the weight of countless tragedies. “But does it really matter? Neither of us can change it. I… need to tend to my other patients… I'm sorry, Superman. Truly.”
Her footsteps dragged as she moved to the next stretcher, burdened by invisible weights. Someone else took the girl, speaking softly in Amharic and carried her out of his view.
He didn't need to witness more. Another mistake. Maybe he should leave; he felt powerless here.
Torn between staying and departing, he left the tent. What if someone else still clung to life, waiting for his help? His actions seemed futile against the wrath of mother nature. Nearby an LNN reporter approached with a cameraman in tow, but he declined their obvious request.
He couldn’t deal with the press right now, but unfortunately, he also couldn’t shut off his hearing as the reporter continued recounting the incident. “… the situation in the affected area remains problematic, as more rescuers arrive. Government officials have stated that the storm brought more water than the soil could absorb. What had started as a blessing for the residents quickly led to devastating floods.”
Clark listened as the reporter recounted the situation. The camera panned over the dozens of people who had gathered—rescued by Superman or the relief teams that arrived after he'd cleared the roads. "The whole issue is made worse by the political turbulence of the region. Most of these people are refugees from a neighboring kingdom, which was plunged into a civil war between their military and the ruling monarch."
Clark's memories stirred. He'd traveled this area—the king of that country lived a lavish lifestyle while the people barely survived. He'd even encountered their military leaders once. Neither seemed fit to rule a country. And now he understood why the country's name had felt so familiar.
"Many of these people have lost their homes, some for the second time after fleeing their own country. As you can see, most are young, having lost their families and homes as their parents were forcefully drafted into a war, leaving no winners. It's estimated that orphaned children make up about two-thirds of the refugees. Their parents were lost in a conflict that only left destruction."
The reporter paused, emphasizing his words. "LNN has an official statement: Muzi Buna has asked the United Nations, the UNHCR, and the Superman Foundation for support. This small country has been overwhelmed by thousands of refugees who were turned away elsewhere."
Clark's mind raced. Sudan and Eritrea had mostly refused refugees, citing insufficient resources. Eritrea had just declared independence from Ethiopia, while Sudan grappled with its own issues regarding the south's quest for independence.
The reporter's words cut through Clark's shame. The Superman Foundation had been idle, and he'd missed an appointment—red Kryptonite or not, he couldn't explain that to the world. The formal plea had reached him, and he'd planned immediate action. But Murray's reminder echoed: superpowers alone couldn't solve this conflict or the refugee crisis. Fundraisers were their best bet.
Still, Clark had wanted to visit the countries, to offer hope and remind people that children suffered. When the refugees arrived, Muzi Buna alone had opened its borders, improvising refugee camps in an area already strained. Today's rainstorm had turned that valley of refuge into a tragedy.
His postponed plans now felt like missed opportunities with irrevocably grave consequences. Why hadn't he done more? Could he have organized fundraisers, convinced neighboring countries to provide shelter?
Standing in the open field, he felt the weight of countless lives lost. Then someone approached—a shy figure who'd witnessed his rejection of the reporters. He turned toward her, compelled by what he saw in her eyes.
The young woman stood before him, tears in her eyes. She said nothing, just looked at him with an expression he couldn’t decipher. Part of him feared she’d accuse him of failing her and her people.
Finally, she moved—engulfing him in a hug. Her whispered words reached his weary ears: “Thank you! You look tired. Please take care of yourself; we will be okay.”
Her kindness and gratitude enveloped him like warm rays of the sun after a week of rain, and he felt his mind ease as she finally pulled away.
“I needed that. Thanks!” he replied warmly. The deep exhaustion that had been chasing him through the muddy rescues finally settled over him. It was time to return home.
~~~
He dipped into the Atlantic sea, cleansing his suit and skin, letting the wind dry him. No super-speed this time; he needed the journey home to help him transition out of the tragedy he’d just seen. The slower flight also helped him to slow down his thinking from disaster-mode to Metropolis’ everyday hero.
Back in his hometown, he made a quick round before returning to his apartment, thankful for the city’s relative peace. Should he shower first or make tea to soothe his mind? The mud’s cold clung to him, affecting him more than he’d expected.
Utterly exhausted, he sank onto the cushions by his bedroom window, using his cape as a makeshift blanket. Removing his boots felt like a Herculean task. Legs crossed, arms resting on his knees, he stared at the darkening sky.
The refugees weighed on his mind. The female refugee’s gratitude had pierced through his heroic facade. She’d seen the tired person behind the mask.
Could he have done better? Was he certain he'd done everything possible, saved everyone he could? Countless faces resurfaced in his memory, their lifeless expressions silently accusing him - too slow, too ineffective, not a hero but a letdown.
Superman had failed this region, infected by red Kryptonite, indifferent to those in need. He thought again that if only he'd attended that meeting, perhaps he could have acted preemptively.
He could have organized fundraisers, used the proceeds to build stable housing in safer areas—if Bill Church hadn't dosed him with Kryptonite. In the end, the bad guy had walked free despite damning evidence from Perry, Lois, and himself. And the refugees were paying the price.
The stars over Metropolis paled compared to those in Smallville. Visiting his parents reminded him of simpler times.
He could go home, see his parents, take a shower—no problem. But the people in Muzi Buna lacked those options. They might not even know where they would sleep tonight.
Shaking his head, he pushed aside the unproductive thoughts. His failure to detect both the little girl in the park and Lois when they’d approached still haunted him. The exhaustion of the day weighed on him.
Lois had been desperate to help earlier, and he'd left her. She likely understood why, but even so, he'd seen the toll it had taken. He had brushed her off, rejecting her when she’d tried to share her feelings.
Usually, he enjoyed her rants, but today was different. He recognized the signs—the tremble in her voice, the determination in her eye. Lois, in trouble-solving mode, set her personal feelings aside, giving everything to the task at hand.
She was always a a beacon of resilience. But he couldn’t burden her. Their park encounter had laid bare the toll their friendship exacted from her.
It wasn't possible to accept her help, not here and not as Superman. She wouldn't want to give Clark a hug right now; he was sure of it. It would be another deception. The previous days had left no question about her current state and her feelings toward him - him as Clark.
The way he'd left her at the fair, at the sidewalk cafe, on their date, during their commute to work, when she'd waited for him to get home, during their work hours, and countless other occasions.
How could she not feel hurt?
His promise to stay with her a few nights ago now seemed worthless, overshadowed by his inability to keep his word. The responsibilities of his double life and the guilt of his lies were finally taking their toll.
The door between them remained closed and locked, and it felt as if the key had been thrown into the Hobbs River, bound to a piece of Kryptonite for good measure.
Maybe if Superman ceased to exist, Clark could be what Lois needed.
TBC
(on Monday or Tuesday, since I’ll be on vacation the next week I can’t make any promises)
