Kal woke, laying alone in a chill, dimly lit room.
He was not convinced he was alive.
But if this was the afterlife, it was terribly disappointing. His parents were not here. None of them. Jor-El or Lara. Ma or Pa. None of the relatives Zod had listed to him in agonizing detail.
Not even the dog.
It was sterile, gray and steel. With lightly circulating air, and as he further regained consciousness, he realized it was familiar.
It was the Tower.
He was back in the Tower, covered by a thin blanket, out of uniform, instead garbed simply in shorts.
No bandage wrapped around his ribs this time.
He could scarcely believe it, but he looked for a clock, or a calendar, anything to tell him how much time had elapsed since he had detonated on Venus, and was surprised to see it had not been the days he was dreadfully expecting. Only hours.
It had only been hours, and as he could scarcely believe that, J'onn walked through the automatic doors. An unreadable look in his eyes.
Unless J'onn had also died, they were both dead, and had ended up in a place that looked a whole lot like the Tower's infirmary, he was still alive.
"How?" He asked, in amazement.
"How did you get here?" J'onn clarified, the usual melodic lilt gone, gone flat.
Kal nodded.
"A mysterious woman snapped her fingers. She did not leave us a name. Said we couldn't pronounce it."
Another thing he could scarcely believe. Yet he'd seen her. And he was here. Why she'd done it, he had no idea. But he strongly suspected he owed her his life.
"Ms. Gsptlsnz."
"May I infer she is related to Mister Mxyzptlk?"
Clark nodded again, echoing her wording. "Her man… But J'onn, did it work? I need to see if it worked. I need to get to the Arctic, I -"
He stopped. Not because he was interrupted. But because he felt tired, drained, only not the way he did from kryptonite.
He simply felt... depleted. Empty.
In astonishment, he realized.
"-I have no powers. I lost my powers."
"I believe it's only temporary. Enough sunlight, and you will regain them. How long that will take, however, I cannot say."
He was used to doing things on his own, but he needed assistance now. Though he first felt the need to address the elephant in the room. The reason – he assumed – for J'onn's continuing coolness towards him.
"I can understand if you are angry with me J'onn, if you are all angry with me, but I can hear your criticisms later. We have to know if it worked. I have to get to the Arctic. And what about everyone's identities? Were they revealed?"
J'onn shook his head. "They were not revealed, and anger isn't exactly the emotion that comes to mind. Normally, I would insist you rest, but I… we understand this is important. For everyone's peace of mind. So right now, the fastest ride to the Arctic is…"
Before J'onn had the chance to finish, a crimson blur answered for him, suddenly arriving and stopping right beside him. And despite his color, he too was flat, in voice and manner. Well, relatively. He was still...
"The Flash. At your service. Better get dressed though, Big Blue. It's going to be a whole lot colder up there than you're used to."
The trip of course, only took an instant. An amazingly uncomfortable, excruciating instant, but an instant. To then be instantly replaced by amazingly uncomfortable, excruciating cold.
But he didn't care, didn't revel in the novelty, in finally getting to know what humans felt like, what he would have felt like, without his powers. All he cared about was finding out for certain.
Had he done it? Was he now the jailor to 323 Kryptonians? Had he imprisoned, as far as he knew, the last of his people? Creating in them a grudge against him that would never fade, that would in all likelihood haunt him for the rest of his nights and his days? Had he sacrificed ever being accepted by his people, to save another people? Worlds of other people?
And the holograms of his parents told him he had. He was. They were, in the Phantom Zone. He relayed this information to Wally, and asked him to relay it to the rest of the League, while he took up his parents' offer, a chance to speak to Zod, with a telephone of sorts.
Then, Clark listened to the most roiling, boiling, rage filled invective of Kryptonian he had ever, and ever expected to hear. Full of life, and directed straight at him.
Cursing his mother, his father, his house, and his existence.
That he was more than a disgrace, had made more than a mistake.
He was an abomination.
"Alright, everybody knows. Everybody's good. You can probably guess the gist of it, we wish you'd told us what you were doing, we get why you didn't, blah, blah, blah, thanks for saving us from tyranny or worse. Oh, but hey, you alright, there?" Wally informed then asked him, somewhat delicately, after he had disconnected from the call, and Clark nodded absently.
"Well, normally I'd leave you here to your own devices, but it isn't really practical at the moment, without your powers and all. We kind of want to keep an eye on you, because, you know, you lost your powers. Isn't easy to do with you way up north here. I mean, for me it is, but not for anybody else.
"So I'm going to drop you back off somewhere. Obviously your apartment is a no go – were you happy with the pack job I did?" After his identity had been revealed, the Justice League had kindly and wisely collected his belongings both from work and his apartment, to keep prying hands and eyes away from them, and packed them away at the Tower, where they still remained, waiting for him to retrieve them, which Wally immediately keyed into, as he continued, without waiting for a response.
"Of course you didn't unpack yet. Had other things to do. But just know it wasn't my greatest work, was a bit of a rush job. Anyway, really, most places are a no go for you at the moment, unless you want to be mobbed by a whole lot of people. So, care to take a guess where your next destination is? Oh, wait, geez, how rude of me. Sorry, you know me, always a million steps ahead of myself. Do whatever else you gotta do here, I'll wait by the door over there for ya. Take your time!"
Clark couldn't be sure if that was meant to be a rhetorical question, where they were going next, or if Wally once again could not stand to wait for a response, had too much to say and not enough time to say it.
And despite his offer, to take his time, Clark kept his activities to the bare minimum. He shut everything down and closed everything up. He kept no real clothing here to speak of, or anything else he could pack in a bag. Besides, he had the feeling where he was going, all things would be provided for.
They stepped outside, and looking over the vast expanse of white, Clark had to shield his eyes, for the first time.
Only for an instant, though.
For in the next instant, they were gone. Somewhere else. Dark and damp with drip drops of water. Bat wings rustling somewhere near by. And a figure, with his back turned to them, sitting in front of a massive panel of screens, who slowly turned his chair to face them, after Wally's earnest greeting.
"Here he is, Bats! Need anything else?"
"No. That'll be all, Flash."
"Alright, I'm off!"
He and Bruce both knew it was no use trying to reply. Wally was already gone. And then it was just the two of them. Along with a distance that was far more than physical. And after traveling far and wide as of late, it was so strange, to be back here.
With Bruce. Who was not registering as Bruce, with cowl and cape in place. He had no words to say to him; Batman would not care for any apologies. They would be meaningless to him, and they were also meaningless to Clark. He had done what he had done, and he would do it again.
Still, he would stand here and let Bruce as Batman say whatever he needed to say to him. That his plan was reckless, ill-thought out, unadvisable. That this whole situation proved Bruce's point right exactly, that night, that seemed so long ago, in the library. When Bruce had said the two of them together was a terrible idea, for so many reasons, but specifically for this, that they could not separate their feelings as Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne whilst working together as Superman and Batman. That professionally, he could understand Clark's choice, but personally he was furious, terrified – at least, that is how Clark would feel, if the situation was reversed. Betrayed and wounded that Bruce would make a life or death decision without him. Without consulting him. For both personal and professional reasons.
Yet, that was not what Bruce said. Instead, he asked, sardonically, "Enjoying life as a human?"
And somehow that said it all. For that one sentence held all the helplessness, all the condescension, all the fight and the entirety of their disagreements and their differences.
That Clark had made more than a mistake, and in the train-wreck his life had become, this was the final car to come off the rails, and like how he imagined the Flash must function, he had been running so fast these last few days he hadn't been able to give much thought to it all.
"Not particularly." He answered.