Clark Kent lived in a world made of cardboard.
No matter how much he wanted to, he could not hit Lex Luthor. Lex had become worse than his father had ever been. Lex had betrayed their friendship. Lex had stolen the woman that Clark loved. Lex had become another Lionel Luthor.
But Clark couldn't hit him.
A careless blow-- an instant of mindless anger-- and he could take Lex's head off. He could become a monster. He would never let that happen-- his parents had raised him better than that.
And with thoughts of Lex, came thoughts of Lana.
He missed her terribly. He would always miss her. But he couldn't have her. They weren't meant to be.
He couldn't hit Lex. He couldn't have Lana.
So he ran. He ran like the wind. He ran faster than the wind. He ran faster than a speeding bullet.
He ran right into destiny.
The old man had ridden the lighting and thunder. He had danced upon tidal waves. He had even once held the reins of the Chariot of the Sun itself.
He sighed.
Minivans just weren't the same.
"Are we there yet?" the dark haired boy in the red shirt asked without taking his eyes off the handheld game he was playing.
"We're close," the old man muttered, resisting the urge to throttle the boy. "I can feel the power. It won't be long now."
"I still don't understand why we had to do it this way."
"Our enemy is powerful and keen sighted. He would see you long before you would see him. You are not yet ready to face him."
The boy sighed. "I just don't want you getting hurt."
The old man had lived a long time. To preserve his sanity, he had long ago learned how to keep his distance from most people. Yet in spite of all his emotional defenses, his heart warmed at the thought of the boy's obvious concern for his wellbeing … and trembled slightly at the thoughts of what they would soon be facing.
It was too soon for the boy to face such a threat, but the old man had no choice. People had died … and there would likely be more deaths in the future. Like it or not, the boy would have to face his destiny now.
He started to say something, but before he had a chance to do so, a red and blue blur smashed into them with all the force of a thunderbolt from Zeus.
Clark Kent had time to mutter an obscenity as he saw the minivan. His anger had made him reckless-- and now someone might die because of it. Furiously backpedaling, he tried to reduce his speed.
But not even a Kryptonian could fully overcome the laws of physics. Momentum fought alien muscle power, and though Clark Kent struggled valiantly, it was a battle not even he could not win.
The minivan hurtled off the road and tumbled down into one of the incongruous gullies that dotted the Smallville landscape. Rolling to a stop, it immediately burst into flames.
"Wonderful," Clark muttered. "Why does that ALWAYS happen?"
He scrambled down the gully and looked inside.
There was a young boy-- a kid-- he couldn't be more than 12. He wasn't moving, and there was an ugly gash on his head, but he was breathing. The old man beside him didn't look to be in any better shape.
Clark tore the door off the boy's side off its hinges and sped up to the road where he laid the boy down beside it. Then he went back for the old man and carried him up as well. By this time, the boy had come to and was coughing.
"Is he okay?" the boy asked, trying to wake the old man.
Clark gave an X-Ray glance at the old man. "I don't see anything broken. He should be fine. I'm Clark Kent. Who are you?"
"Billy," the boy replied. "Billy Batson."
And the minivan exploded like a roll of thunder …