AN: You guys make me feel so special. All this attention makes me and my muse so happy. And a happy muse usually means more chapters are on the way (Though a nice sugar high can work too... Mmm, have to find cookies).

Onward, ho!

Normal Guy by AlexTheGray

Chapter 3: Medical

It was huge. Clark had only glanced at if for a moment, but it wasn't until he was sitting in his chair at the meeting table that he was able to appreciate the full level of humiliation a single photo could cause.

Projected on a large expanse of bare wall was the license picture of Alexander L. Harris. What had before appeared to simply be an untimely respiratory reaction now seemed a horrifyingly embarrassing testament to teenaged awkwardness. With his eyes screwed shut, the tip of his tongue stuck out from between his teeth, and his nose scrunched against the explosive exhalation, it was probably the most spastic picture Clark had ever seen. There were even little dobs of spittle just visible on the camera lens.

But that was not what made the photo so morbidly fascinating. No, the part of the picture that made Clark unable to look away was the greenish, yellowish... monstrosity. The Hawaiian shirt (a trend Clark was noticing already) was, at best description, a sort of yellow puke green color that hurt even his eyes. It was quite a feat when one of the only men (alright, alien) capable of looking directly into the sun with no ill effects had to turn slightly away to not suffer the full brunt of the eyesore.

But the worst thing was not that Alex had fallen victim to a pollen spore, or that he even owned a shirt with that level of radioactivity; no, the worst thing was that the boy had chosen to wear the shirt for the picture.

No one deserved to have their poor judgment displayed before an audience of strangers, least of all Alex, lade up in an infirmary bed as he was.

Alex. Clark had taken to calling him that, figuring that no one in possession of evidence of such an absurdly goofy period of life could go by anything but a nickname. And after all, he'd have to call him something other than 'kid' in this meeting.

The meeting which was so sparsely populated that only every third or fourth chair was occupied. Someone had run for snacks and takeout (Flash) before flying up to the Watchtower (courtesy of Bruce's space shuttle), and the products of the hyperactive food run were spread all across the table. Clark had managed to snag the carton of Oregon coast shrimp cocktail before anyone else could blink (except Wally, who'd been to the restroom and back in the time the super-sonic sneak occurred). There was something to be said about super-speed.

And so there they sat, poking their plastic forks (or chopsticks, or teeny-tiny shrimp forks) into their Styrofoam containers while they waited for the Batman to finish sifting through a thick stack of paper files. Wally fidgeted with his assorted junk foods and the heaping pile of wrappers, unhappily remaining in his chair after the glare Bruce had sent his way at his frenetic, hyper movements about the room. Dick sat sullenly prodding at his lo mein, sulking that, though allowed to come to the League meeting, Bruce had pushed him out of the way like a disobedient child. Diana sat back in her chair, nibbling on the Greek salad before her, amused as she watched everyone struggle to be still and quiet, to avoid Bruce's glaring wrath. Bruce hadn't even looked at the food, was bent forward over the mish-mash of file folders, flipping through the pages occasionally, but otherwise still.

And all of them seemed perfectly capable of ignoring the big bright projection, while Clark sat hunched around his food container, pecking at the seafood with his eyes glued to the blinding shirt.

Finally Bruce sat back, signaling the beginning of the meeting. He looked up at Clark, who was still staring gob-smacked at the picture, and asked, "You said the needle broke?"

With a violent twitch Clark came to himself. "That's right."

"Did you try anything else? Needles aren't exactly the best judge of invulnerability," the Gotham billionaire said, eyes squinting in consideration.

Clark could almost immediately feel himself bristle. "What? Did you expect me or J'onn to start stabbing him with any sharp object we had handy?"

Bruce's mouth had opened on what was likely to be an angry retort when Wally asked, "Where is J'onn anyway? Isn't he the one that's supposed to examine the kid?"

"He's with Alex now," Clark said, grudgingly letting the building argument dwindle. He noted that Bruce seemed oddly satisfied with the answer. "Making sure it's not a 'fluctuating state.' Is there any reason the kid shouldn't have powers?" He turned his attention abruptly back to Batman.

Bruce sighed as he leaned back in his chair. "His medical records don't show anything unusual in all the times he's been injured."

"Wouldn't that make sense? He seemed pretty new to..." Clark said, trailing off as Diana held up her hand in a halting motion, leafy green dangling from fork tongs.

"Wait, wait," Wonder Woman said. "'All the times he's been injured?' What do you mean? Was he... did he get hurt a lot?" None of them missed her hesitation, and Clark looked to the photo once again, wondering what the goofiness and bright colors hid about the boy.

Bruce shook his head, curbing the group's unspoken fears. "His records are rather normal for most of his life. A broken arm after falling out of a tree, a snapped collar bone rough-housing in the playground," he said, alleviating most of their fears; but everyone had grown to know Bruce enough to recognize the crinkle in his brow he now sported.

"It's during high school, specifically his sophomore year, that there's an abrupt increase in hospital time. It starts off with cuts and abrasions, then head trauma, then he only seems to come in for big injuries, probably learning to do his own first aid or self-examinations. If nothing else, it points to a high resilience factor; one record says he sustained a concussion via a school issued microscope and didn't receive medical attention until several hours later, after an extended period of unconsciousness. But no matter how many injuries he may have recovered from, these files in no way point to a resistance to injury."

They sat quietly for a time, wondering at the kind of life a person would lead to suffer such obvious and continuous violence. Even Wally's continuous gnawing had slowed as he thought over the implications.

"What stuff was this kid involved with?" Dick asked, his chopstick stirring cheerlessly in his food box.

"I don't know," Bruce practically snarled. At the disbelieving looks of the others his expression darkened, and he continued. "From what I can tell, the police in his town are worse than Gotham's finest ever were."

Everyone's eyes widened at the new bit of information. A police department worse than the GPD was a disturbing thought.

"It's like their paperwork system was designed and executed by a dyslexic third grader hyped up on sugar and caffeine, with the same level of attention to detail," he went on. The more frustrated he got, at least in this instance, the more he ranted. "None of their files are in the proper order, or even finished, and some have been completely blacked out or 'misplaced.' His school records aren't any better; apparently the school exploded the same day as his graduation ceremony, taking most of the students' information with it. I can't even access the towns newspaper because it's never taken anything but the form of paper hard-copy. We'll probably have to send someone into the area if we want to find out so much as the towns public meetings schedule."

They all sat around the table, taken aback at by Bruce's sudden loss of composure. For the Batman to be this upset about it, he must have really hit an information wall.

The quiet tension was finally broken when J'onn stepped into the room, a slim file folder tucked neatly under his arm. "My, aren't we ever so cheerful this evening," he observed, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

"What do you have?" Bruce growled, unconcerned with social niceties.

J'onn raised a single brow in interest before responding. "Analysis show signs of great physiological restructuring. CAT scans show heightened activity in parts of the brain devoted to sensory processing, tests affirm a resistance to injury, as well as an accelerated healing factor when he is." Clark opened his mouth, reminded of Bruce's earlier comment about testing Alex's invulnerability, but J'onn continued over him. "Also, from Clark's account of his encounter with young Mr. Harris, it appears that it was his first experience with super speed, and most of the other noticeable deviations. As far as I can tell, a week ago he was nothing more than an ordinary young man with with a hardy constitution."

"So what?" Wally asked, leaning against the table as he turned to more fully face the martian. "The kid just finished high school, and suddenly he's got these powers comin' outta nowhere? What, did he get bit by somethin' radioactive? Ooo, or maybe he's some kind of government experiment." He was getting excited now. Too many comic books, Clark thought.

"Or maybe that explosion you were talking about exposed him to those gamma-whatsits," he continued, turning back to the table. He was literally vibrating with suppressed energy.

"W can ask him when he wakes up," Dick said dryly, amused by Flash's enthusiasm.

"Actually, that's why I'm here," J'onn said. "The monitors show that he should awaken in a few minutes."

Wally was out of his seat and through the door before anyone else had so much as taken their next breath.

-----

Clark leaned against the wall next to the door, arms crossed over his chest as he waited. Diana stood to his left, reclining in the corner as she watched them fidget. Bruce stood by the bed, file folder in hand, Dick close by his side. Wally kept jumping around the room; kneeling by the kids feet, straining to see over Bruce and Dick's shoulders, getting a drink from the sink at the other end of the room. J'onn stood on the other side of the bed, watching the boy intently as his twitching increased.

Alex's breathing changed, and a wakeful groan escaped his mouth. His face scrunched against the renewed consciousness as he grabbed for a blanket that wasn't there. After a minute of useless groping, he stilled, one eye coming abruptly open.

Which he immediately closed again, the infirmary lights too bright for his sleepy eyes. Clark brought his hand to the light dimmer, turning the luminescent glare down. After a minute spent watching the kid rub grit out of his eyes, one eye again came open, more cautiously this time, followed quickly by the other. They got huge as the boy took in the other inhabitants of the room.

"What the hell am I on?"

Clark could feel the corner of his mouth curl upward at the incredulous query. Diana, Dick and J'onn hid their amusement by looking away, covering broad grins behind their hands. Even the perpetually grim air around Batman seemed to ease slightly. Wally, of course, snorted into his hand and started giggling like a school girl at a pop concert.

And the kid's eyes just got bigger. Apparently he thought superheroes didn't find anything funny.

J'onn cleared his throat before saying, "You aren't 'on' anything, Mr. Harris. And even if we had wanted to put you on something, sticking you with a needle would have been quite impossible."

"Huh?" was the ever so eloquent response.

"Your abilities probably wouldn't allow us to administer sedatives or painkillers even if you needed them," Bruce said, his looming figure making the boy clutch at his shorts and open shirt for reassurance.

"Abilities?"

"Yes. Your powers, at least in the current observable mix, are rather unique, and we were wondering as to where you might have obtained them."

"What Bats here is trying to say," Wally got out around a giggle, "is that we wanna know if you've been around any exploding gamma-whatchamacallits that would make you super fast or strong."

"Whoa, wait a minute," Alex said, bringing up his hands in a gesture to slow down. "Powers? Me? You've gotta be kidding. I don't have any... abilities. I'm ordinary. Decidedly un-special. Normal Guy. See me with a lack of power having."

"Be that as it may have been, our tests show that you have an uncanny ability to heal from wounds, or even repel injury altogether." This proclamation of his previously unknown abilities garnered an unintelligible utterance which may have been "Guah?"

"Not to mention your medical bills," Bruce went on, "which point to an 'extra'-ordinary amount of time spent being treated for injuries most often caused by blunt force."

"Hah!" Alex pointed triumphantly, strangely smug. "You just said that I was prone to injury, meaning I'm not good at escaping injury. What you just said is a paradox."

"Paradox?" Dick said, somehow amused by the vocabulary of an eighteen year old.

"Oh no," the boy said, clutching at his head dramatically. "I've got Old British Man (TM) speak. What has Giles done to me?"

Clark could practically see Bruce's face tick at the antics of his protege and the kid in the bed, despite his turned back. But the masked billionaire continued on, putting a bit more growl in his voice. "You're records show that you've been to the Sunnydale Memorial Hospital enough times in the past three months to know every nurse and medical assistant by name. Try telling me that's ordinary."

Something tickled at Clark's mind. Sunnydale?

"It's a dangerous part of the country," he rebutted, sticking out his chin to counter his uncertainty. "What with the gangs on PCP, a-and the barbecue fork accidents. It's not all that unusual for people to get hurt. Besides, it's mostly just scrapes and bruises."

Gangs on PCP, Clark thought, still chasing the niggling memory. What kind of town did this kid live in?

"As much as 'people' get hurt in a dangerous town, you seem to be a forerunner for hospital patient of the year." Bruce was watching his face now, looking for something in his expression to help him get all the pieces to this puzzle. "And if your town is so dangerous, why do your parents insist on living where their son gets so many 'scrapes and bruises'?"

Alex bristled at that, hands curling into fists. "What do you know about my parents?"

"Only that they don't seem to be too involved when it comes to your physical health. They don't take you to get treated, don't pick you up to go home; most of the bills seem to be paid either by your school librarian or out of your own pocket."

Clark couldn't see where Bruce was going with this. Maybe he was trying to rile a straight answer out of the kid. Maybe he was just upset with how little they'd been able to find and was taking out some of his frustration through the Inquisition. Whatever he was doing, Clark was too distracted by his own thoughts to figure it out.

"You would think that your own parents would at least care how you got home after getting hurt. Your father, a Mr. Anthony Harris, works as a mechanic, makes a good salary..."

Clark let Bruce's voice fade into the background as something in his mind clicked.

Sunnydale. Tony Harris.

"And your mother..."

Oh. Oh God.

"Jessica."

-----

AN2: I think I use big words when I don't know how to write something.

So it's about a week after I started this, and I just feel the need to point out that updates for this story probably will be limited to the weekends, as school tends to take up a fair bit of my time and concentration.

Also, in regard to Xander's home life, I'm not going to have him be a victim of physical domestic abuse. Vampire punching bag, sure. Sufferer of overprotective friends, hell yeah. Even a little parental negligence. But this will not be a fic about how awful Tony Harris was (which, yeah, the show pretty much nailed the Tony-is-an-asshole shtick). The Supes will not come to Sunnydale and beat on the Harrises. That's just not how I role.

And, another also, I'm thinking that I might postpone any "I come from a Hellmouth, how 'bout you?" discoveries or bonding until later in the story. I've got loose plans for how to handle that. Other loose plans include how Clark tells Lois, which I are more loose than planny at the moment. Any suggestions are always appreciated.

Thanks for reading; please review.

ATG