Thanks for all the support guys. :) Here's the next chapter. We get some Diana here too!

Chapter 3

Bruce sat at his computer station and brooded at the lack of search results. Every few moments he glanced at his phone and contemplated calling Lois to demand details. He didn't like being out of the loop. He'd already searched for anything relating to Martha Wayne in Smallville and come up empty. Sooner or later a police report had to be filed if there was one, but in such a small town he wouldn't be surprised if it was something officers did at the end of the day. Everyone knew everyone there.

His pilot had already reported back that he dropped Lois Lane at the nearest tiny airstrip outside Smallville and helped her get a taxi, which was not an easy thing in such a small town. She had been heading to the Kent farm, which Bruce had already guessed. He ran a search again. Nothing. He felt powerless, and that was not something he liked or was ever used to.

"Problem?" Diana entered the room, back from the Atlantic and looking cool as ever in a linen suit and heels. As usual, she could size him up in very little time, which he always found uncomfortable.

The click of heels as she crossed the room was still a foreign sound to him, considering he'd only allowed Diana access and knowledge about his hideout three months ago. It was still a strange thing after years of only Alfred's footsteps. Alfred had been delighted to see a woman enter the inner sanctum, though he had become decidedly less so after he observed Bruce and Diana work day and night looking for leads. His hopes that Bruce might take a step back from his nighttime activities had clearly been dashed. Bruce always took note of Alfred's heavy sighs but never responded to them.

Diana moved behind his chair and scanned the computer screens. "Smallville. Is Martha all right?"

Bruce tabbed through his research, bringing up Lois' cell phone records. "She called Lois this morning, and Lois wanted to be there as fast as possible. I sent her on one of my planes. She was supposed to call me when she got there and tell me what's going on."

Diana frowned at the screen. "I tried to call her twenty minutes ago but she did not answer."

"Maybe I should get on a plane myself." Bruce checked his phone again.

Diana moved around so that she could lean on the counter and really see Bruce's face. She held her silence just long enough for him to become aware of it. It broke through his contemplation and forced him to look up at her, just as she wanted. When she actually had his attention she chose her words carefully.

"Maybe you should wait for Lois to ask for your help." She gave him that look that implied she was laughing at him on the inside, which didn't help his mood.

"Maybe she's not able to ask. She should have called by now."

Diana gave him a slightly patronizing but understanding smile. "You don't think she can take care of herself?"

"I think she doesn't have any special skills or training, and I'm pretty sure she's not an Amazon." He gave her a laconic smile, to which she nodded acknowledgment.

"My mother told me one of the most important weapons a warrior should have is a brain." Hearing that, Bruce scowled at the keyboard. Diana continued, unperturbed. "Lois has a good brain. If she thought she was walking into trouble she would have asked you to come already. She can take care of herself."

Bruce resisted the impulse to point out the myriad of times Lois Lane had actually landed in trouble. He set his jaw as he thought about the multiple times Superman had rescued her from what would have been certain death. Though to her credit, she was as smart a woman as she was fearless. He measured his words carefully. Finally he verbalized his real concern.

"She could make or break the future. She could be the key to everything."

"I know."

Diana had heard this before. She clearly understood why he was so protective, even if she had issues with it. She leaned down and put a hand on his shoulder, murmuring low in his ear.

"But a key will never work if it can't find the lock. Don't hide it away." She gave him her classic smile, eyes bright, and moved away to pull up a chair at her own computer area Bruce had provided. "The Atlantic was a dead end, nothing to find." She began typing, bringing up files and notes.

Bruce almost envied her ability to go with the flow of what came. That was beyond him. Preparation was key. Even now his computer was set up to hack NASA regularly at random intervals, looking for any sign out of the ordinary, anything approaching. It was just one more way to catch the future he feared one more second before it occurred. His priorities were always at the forefront. He needed to find the metahumans and he needed to keep Lois Lane safe. And Martha. He owed them that much, and Lois could be vitally important later on.

His eyes flicked to his phone again just as it began ringing. He had it up to his ear in an instant, purposely ignoring Diana's smug smile at her monitor. "Lois, what's happening?" He knew he sounded too intense, but the waiting had put him on edge.

Lois didn't even notice, considering her voice was just as intense. "Clark might be alive. And he's missing."

Of all the possible scenarios he expected to hear, that wasn't anywhere near them. "What?" His voice was still quiet but he shot to his feet, gaining Dina's immediate attention and startling Alfred who was just entering with a tray of iced tea for Diana. They both looked to him and waited in suspense.

Lois was still talking. "Martha called because Clark's body was missing, his grave was disturbed."

Bruce's mind reeled at that idea. The possible implications spelled bad news. He was already conjuring up a similar creature to Doomsday, created from another Kryptonian body. Tension grabbed hold, his jaw clenching, hand tightening on his phone, before he remembered the first thing she'd said. He might be alive... "It's empty?"

"Yes, but when the police looked at the grave forensics indicated someone did the damage leaving it, not breaking in." She paused to let that sink in, and Bruce was absorbing it like a dry sponge. It was impossible, but everything about Superman was. He would give anything for it to be true.

"Where is he?"

"We don't know. He never came back to the farm as far as we can tell, and he didn't come to the apartment before I left. Martha visits his grave every day and yesterday everything was normal so it had to have happened in the middle of the night."

Bruce blocked the mental image of Martha visiting her son's grave daily, it mingled too well with taking flowers to his mother's crypt. He breathed deep for a moment, collecting himself. Superman could fly. That complicated the issue at hand immensely. "He could be anywhere."

"I know," her voice was a clear indicator that she had considered this as well.

"I should —" His eyes flickered to Diana and away again. He cleared his throat. "Do you want me to come down and see what I can do?" Behind him, Alfred's eyebrows raised in clear surprise.

"I think we've got it managed on this end. See what you can find in Metropolis. Maybe he'll come back there."

Bruce nodded. It made sense. "That's the best strategy. Diana is back, we'll see what we can find."

"Thank you, Bruce." Lois sounded as if she'd had doubts that Bruce would actually help. But as focused as he was on finding the metahumans, this far eclipsed that goal for a multitude of reasons.

His voice was slightly gruff when he spoke next. "You're welcome. We'll find him, Lois."

"I hope so." He could tell she was holding in her worry, but his determined statement seemed to have made her feel better. Resolve was stealing through his veins. If there was any chance Superman was alive, the odds against whatever was coming had to be significantly improved.

After Bruce assured her his plane would wait and bring her back when she was ready, they said their goodbyes and hung up. Bruce slowly turned to face Diana and Alfred, still staring at his phone. Both looked impatient at this point. He gave them a somewhat blank look, but Alfred at least could see the unrelenting hope that he was trying to suppress.

"It appears that Clark Kent broke out of his own grave last night."

Both Diana and Alfred just stared at him for a moment. Alfred had seen so much in the last twenty years he thought nothing would surprise him, but this did the job very well. He put down the tray he was still holding, marveling at the idea. And how radically different this was from Bruce trying to kill the same man eight months ago.

Diana showed a quick look of surprise but accepted the news far easier. It only took a few moments of consideration before her thoughts went the same direction Bruce's had. "Where is he?"

Bruce gave her a level look. "Missing."

She nodded. She knew it already. "So he didn't go to the farm. Did he go to Metropolis?"

Bruce headed to his computer console. "That's what we need to find out." Diana followed his lead, grabbing her glass of iced tea on the way to hers.

Alfred watched in concern. He moved to Bruce's side and waited. As ever, Bruce knew what he wanted and tilted his head to indicate he was listening.

Alfred hesitated, glancing back at Diana already working. Another partner after all this time. Bruce had sworn never again. His gaze shifted back to Bruce, already pulling up anything that might help him locate an alien he had once wanted to kill. Now it was so they could work together, locate others who had abilities. Save the world. It was Bruce's new obsession, and it worried Alfred.

However. Bruce still drank, but not as badly as he had a year ago. Alfred was reasonably sure he still had nightmares, though whether they were the same ones or different Alfred couldn't tell. Bruce still brought a woman home now and again, after a fundraiser or party he attended for business or a good cause. But the steady stream had slowed, and Bruce was spending more and more time down here. In front of a computer. Working to save the world from some threat he couldn't even see.

Alfred deliberated. He had been starting to worry that Bruce was becoming overly paranoid after Doomsday and the battle of Metropolis, but maybe the worst paranoid days had already passed. Alfred had watched Bruce come as close as he ever had to complete self-destruction eight months ago, but he been able to pull back from the edge. Because of Superman. As driven as he was, Bruce seemed to be doing better than he had in a long time. Alfred had hoped Bruce would make his peace with his past and the Batman so he could settle down and be happy. But maybe that was just never the happiness Bruce was destined to have. Maybe there was a different kind of happiness, though. Even if it was in a cave on a computer.

Alfred's hesitation had stretched out far enough to really grab Bruce's attention. He looked up from his computer, eyes concerned. "Alfred?"

Alfred abandoned his precautionary words for the moment. "Would you like some iced tea as well?"

Bruce looked at him a moment, considering, before he too moved on. "Not really, but some coffee would be great. Thanks."

Alfred nodded and moved upstairs, repressing a sigh.

At least he wasn't branding criminals anymore.

Lois and Martha spent the next few hours combing through Smallville without a trace of Clark. When they returned to the house Pete was waiting next to his police cruiser.

"I need to show you something." He opened the passenger side door and invited her to sit. She quickly did. Martha moved to the porch and waved them off, clearly determined to wait at home in case Clark showed up. Pete drove slowly up the road to the cemetery again.

"I canvassed the area. Took quite a while, the fields are big and it all looks the same until you get close enough to see any disturbed areas. But I finally found something." He drove past the cemetery and down the road, then turned left. Lois could see a cone typically used for detouring traffic in an emergency sitting on the side of the road, obviously to help Pete find his way back to it. Lois looked out the window at the endless fields and marveled at Pete's dedication. It must have taken hours of walking up and down through rows. Pete rolled up next to the cone and turned the car off, then led Lois into the field of hip-high stalks. Finally he stopped and pointed, but Lois had already seen it. A large swathe of wheat beaten down or churned up in a more or less straight path, ending after sixty feet or so.

Lois quickly turned and looked back toward the cemetery, just visible in the distance with its grove of trees. She stood back and tried to visualize Clark emerging from the cemetery in flight, then followed the path to where they stood with her eyes. "It fits." She looked at Pete, who was nodding. "He could have crashed here."

"Looks like it. I know it doesn't tell you where he is but..." Pete shrugged. Lois rushed to reassure him.

"No no, this is helpful Pete, thank you," she smiled at him to let him know she meant it. He nodded and moved into the churned up dirt, checking the ground for anything that might help. Lois surveyed the surrounding area with a complete turn, taking in the landscape as her mind worked the problem. Pete approached with a small dark shred of fabric in his hand, dirt still clinging to it. He handed it to Lois, and she studied it closely.

She knew that fabric. Countless times she had run her fingers over it as she touched Clark's arm or lapel. It was one of his favorites, that was why she and Martha had chosen to bury him in it. She had wanted to believe he might be alive so badly, but this made it so much more real. Her eyes had a moist sheen on them as she lifted them to Pete's face.

"It's from his suit coat. He was here." She gave a soft, hiccuped laugh and smiled a big smile, making Pete smile widely too.

She headed back to the car, eager to share with Martha. Pete followed.

Martha fingered the small shred of fabric, tears forming in her eyes. The two women shared a smile and a hug before calming down enough to consider their next plan of action. After some discussion, Martha held Lois by the shoulders.

"You go. I'll stay here just in case. Go find our Clark." Martha's eyes were shining, bright with desperate hope. Lois hugged her again.

"I'll call you as soon as I find anything."

And Lois was out the door, heading to Pete's cruiser for a ride to the air strip.

The first few hours of the drive were very enjoyable. Hank watched the countryside from his window and listened to Paul tell him about his wife and his adult children. He could feel his body gathering strength in small increments. The granola bar had settled well and he was on his way to parts unknown. All seemed well, aside from the fact that he didn't remember anything about himself.

But after a while Hank became aware of a constant nagging headache. It hung on through the next hours, no matter how Hank tried to manage it. It cut into his enjoyment of listening to Paul's voice, the man's friendly chatter hadn't changed volume at all but was suddenly loud, blaring and overpowering to Hank's abruptly sensitive ears. The light was too bright, the sound of the semi's engine too piercing. There was a constant whine growing in his head. Hank averted his eyes and tried not to let his discomfort show, still giving appropriate nods and responses when politeness called for it.

They had left the farmland behind and were on the freeway navigating multiple lanes of traffic, alternately slowing down and accelerating, a large city outside Hank's window and somewhat trapped in a slow-going mass of traffic, before it became unbearable.

Hank had his eyes closed for a moment, trying to will his headache away, when sound suddenly snapped to brilliant and painful multidimensional life. He could hear everything around him and beyond him, a baby crying in a car two lanes from them and an arguing couple in the car behind it. Dozens of different songs or news stations talking and chattering away, the garbled jumble of more and more voices, louder and louder and every second more overwhelming. Hank squeezed his eyes shut even further, unable to stop the pained look that crossed his face. He pulled into himself, hunching over like a turtle trying to pull into its shell.

"Hey, you okay Hank?" Paul cast a wary glance his way while still trying to navigate traffic. He was fairly trusting and open to helping a stranger, but he wasn't ignorant of the dangers that could come with it. If this guy was going to suddenly go ballistic on him it was going to be a bad day.

Hank opened his eyes and looked at Paul, ready to blame a migraine, but instead of Paul he had a detailed look at the inner workings of Paul's body, down to the beating heart. It was terrifying, so he looked up at the ceiling of the cab, noting that he could see through it as well and into the sky above. The urge to push up and somehow escape was overwhelming, but he fought it back. He didn't have the strength still, that much he knew.

"Hank?" Paul was looking more and more unnerved. Hank closed his eyes and focused, not wanting to scare the man more. He didn't deserve that, and besides every instinct inside Hank was telling him to downplay this. To hide it. Don't show them you're different.

"I'm sorry," he gasped out. "I feel strange."

Paul's fear melted into worry. "That sucks, man. Do you want to lay down in the back for a while? Maybe some sleep will help you feel better."

Hank nodded, grateful to find a place he could wrestle with it unobserved. He crawled into the bunk behind the seats and laid down, removing his glasses and placing them in a pocket. The darker, more enclosed space gave off a soothing feeling. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers into them to at least block some of the stimuli. But the sounds remained, pressing in on his mind, assaulting his ears.

"—I am so sick of you talking over me, let me speak—"

"Please baby, it's okay don't cry. Next exit I promise—"

"Help him!" He could taste metallic, coppery blood all of a sudden and he had no idea if it was real or imagined, his senses were so acute.

"—why is there no copy for this story—"

"Hey let's go, what are you doing?"

"— just wish there was something I could do—"

"You can save all of them."

"Hello, Cal."

He was glad his head was behind Paul's seat, out of the man's view. He held his skull as his mouth opened in a silent scream as voices and sounds poured into his head. It was overwhelming, distressing, chaotic agony. Someone somewhere was singing and the sound mixed with a news report.

...islands in the stream...that is what we are...

"In other news, Stryker's island, once uninhabited, will now—"

Hank's eyes popped open. Island...

The image of an island came to the forefront of his mind, along with a feminine voice.

"Pretend it's an island...swim towards it honey..."

Hank closed his eyes and focused, working to slow his breathing as he visualized one thing in the ocean of sound and swam toward it. After several minutes he opened his eyes, and the world felt smaller. He didn't move though. The struggle had left him exhausted, and he felt weak again. He closed his eyes and allowed the steady rhythm of the moving cab to lull him to sleep, not realizing his right arm was extended out of habit, waiting for someone that never came to curl up next to him...

In his mind, the island became an ocean, and he bobbed on the surface under a giant three-pronged machine that pounded the earth with a beam of light. The sound of it washed over him, pinning him in the water as it carried varied nameless screaming victims away from his grasp. He reached for them fruitlessly, too immobile to help, too weighed down to lift them. A bright piercing light burst off the horizon, and flames spread impossibly over the waves. Surrounding him with their burning heat, incinerating anyone still near but leaving him untouched. A woman screamed as she fell from the high machine, but he could do nothing to save her. A black shadow loomed over his paralyzed form and blocked out the sun, deep rumbling voice beating into his chest like daggers, pain with every breath.

"I bet your parents taught you that you mean something, that you're here for a reason."

He was being dragged slowly across the water by his ankle, weak and helpless, drifting sideways in the tide. The water turned green and he choked on it, gasping for breath—

"Hank?"

A hand on his shoulder brought him straight up. Paul jumped back with his hands in the air.

"Whoa, sorry to scare you! I was just wondering if you were hungry."

He pointed out the front of the cab and Hank craned to look. It was almost dark. He must have slept for hours. A truck stop waited for them, complete with a restaurant lit in a garish green from a neon sign. Hank's jaw tensed. He had to shake his head to clear the last bits of dream away.

Hank looked at Paul, suddenly sheepish. "I don't have any money on me."

Paul smiled, shaking his head. "Get out, I think I can take care of that."

Hank rolled off the bunk and climbed out of the cab after Paul. His feet hit the ground, solid and steady. He didn't feel as weak as he had all day. The sensory issues seemed to be under control now. He felt much better, actually. Except for the lingering cloudiness in his mind, flitting images and emotions scattering and rising at odd moments. He ignored it and offered Paul a smile of thanks.

Paul slapped his shoulder. "Let's get some food." He recoiled, waving his smarting hand in the air. "Ow! Buddy you are stacked! You sure you're not some WWF wrestler?"

Hank smiled. "I don't think so."

Not that he really knew.

Hope to have the next chapter up by the beginning of next week or so. Fingers crossed. Also, if you're reeeaaaaaaaaallllly into mining tiny details out of things (like I am, lol) Clark's dream should have some familiar elements to it of course, and some of the voices he was hearing were actually memories surfacing. You might recognize some familiar lines from Man of Steel. If you caught them all, nice job! That wasn't an accident. ;)