As soon as the burning sensation faded from my eyelids, I shot upstairs, each wooden step groaning and cracking under the force of my speed. I don't think I'd ever moved that fast in my life. Showing up at the hospital looking like a war-torn soldier fresh from the trenches wasn't an option.

A quick, sideways glance in the mirror confirmed my pitiful state. The black t-shirt I'd swiped bore a fresh slash in the middle from where Jake had stabbed me. It looked ready to burst at the seams around my arms. The face camouflage I was wearing had all but melted away. No wonder Jake had pissed his pants; I looked like a demon straight from the depths of hell.

Without a second thought, I ripped the t-shirt from my body with a resounding tear. I scrambled to throw on the first hoodie and sneakers I could find, hardly processing what I was doing at the speed I was going. I silently thanked the stars above that my abnormal body spared me from emitting any foul odors, because there was no time for a shower.

I sprinted to the bathroom and practically scrubbed my face raw in an attempt to remove the camo paint as fast as inhumanly possible. The faucet didn't survive my haste, and the temperature control piece clattered to the floor with a raucous crash. Shit! The last thing I needed was a plumbing disaster.

Water began to spew, and I narrowly dodged it, sidestepping just in time to save my freshly changed clothes. I pinched the broken faucet hole shut with my fingers, and rushed to the house controls to cut off the water supply. Back upstairs in a flash to grab my phone. Dead. Snatching my charger, I bolted out of the house, barely pausing to prop up our mangled front door. The sorry state of our front porch was the least of my concerns – let Narrows criminals have their fun with Jake's new TV. There wasn't much else of value left to plunder.

I skidded to a stop in an alley behind the bustling hospital. If it weren't for my cursed metabolism, I swear my whole being would've been quaking. Taking a series of deep breaths, I fought to regain some semblance of composure. That little army boot camp had my impulses all tangled up, and I didn't trust myself in a public space in such a volatile state.

Alright... okay. Breath in… Breath out… You've got this. Once I'd managed to wrestle control over my frantic nerves, I set off towards the hospital entrance with a more measured pace, praying my stride might at least pass for a normal human's hurried gait.

I reached the reception area with a single person in the queue. Good. For once, the universe seemed to be cutting me some slack. I slotted into the line, closed my eyes, and drew upon every ounce of patience I could muster. My breathing exercises kept my nerves in check.

The elderly lady in front of me appeared to have found her own social haven at the front desk, chatting away with the clerk like it was the highlight of her day. Absolute torture. My patience grew thinner with each passing second. Finally, she bid her farewell and slowly shuffled out of line. In one swift step, I was at the desk.

"Martha Kent, please. Which room is she in? I'm her son," I blurted out, unable to contain my urgency.

The receptionist let out a weary sigh. She shifted her chair aside, leaned closer to her colleague, exchanged a few hushed words, and indulged in a soft, almost mocking chuckle. Eventually, her gaze returned to me.

"First, young man, calm down," she chastised, her whole demeanor far too casual for my liking. She took a leisurely sip of her coffee, leaving me grinding my teeth in frustration.

"Visiting hours are strictly from 12:00 to 18:00. I'm afraid you'll have to come back tomorrow," she informed me.

"Sure, no problem, I'll be back," I managed to force a tight-lipped smile, my knuckles turning white. I resisted the urge to crush her desk in half. Calm down, sicko.

My agitation barely contained, I jogged my way outside without wasting another moment. I scanned the entire hospital complex with a single sweeping glance, eyes darting from room to room. It revealed a myriad of sights I'd rather not have seen – patients entangled in wires and tubes, a grieving family huddled together with tear-streaked faces, doctors with hands slick from blood.

And then, at last, I caught a flash of auburn hair. Without a second thought, I blurred into motion.

In an instant, I was by her side, my heart pounding wildly. Seeing her in such a weakened state cut deeper than any S.T.A.R. Labs scalpel ever could. Her face bore a jagged gash that eerily resembled Helena's injury from a few weeks ago.

"Mom..." I choked back the tears, desperately trying to keep my emotions in check. I reached for her fragile hand, handling it more delicately than Batman's crystal glasses. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she turned to face me.

"Clark..." Her voice trembled with disbelief, tears welling up in her eyes. "Oh, Clark, I was so worried…" She made a feeble attempt to lift her head, wincing in pain before settling back onto the hospital bed.

"Shhh, Mom, take it easy," I whispered, my own voice catching in my throat. "I'm okay, I'm okay," I reassured her. "I'm here now. You're safe."

My eyes scanned her injuries, wincing as I took in her unhealed ribs. Guilt gnawed at my insides. My fault. But as my gaze traveled further, my heart sank even deeper. Her hip showed a concerning crack, and her collarbone was visibly out of place. Deep, angry bruises covered her skin in horrifying shades of purple and black.

"Mom, what happened to you?" I asked, an undercurrent of anger bubbling up within me.

"You tried to warn me... he saved me," she murmured, her words disjointed and nonsensical, likely a result of the sedatives.

"What? Who saved you? Did Jake do this to you?" I released her hand, my anger flaring to life. I would fucking kill him.

"No, no… not Jake," she mumbled, her words barely audible. "I only wanted to make soup, but the leek fell... I fell... All the groceries. He came out of nowhere..."

My anger surged even higher. I wanted to tear into anyone who had dared to do this to her. "Who, Mom? Who attacked you?"

"The clown... you tried to warn me, with a knife..." Tears pooled in her eyes as she spoke, and the horror of her words began to sink in.

My eyes widened in shock. No, it couldn't be. He had… Heat flared behind my eye sockets. Fuck! Not here, not in a hospital. I clamped my eyes shut, desperate to regain control. My hands shot to my temples, fingers digging into my skin as I struggled to steady my erratic breath. I had to gather myself before I wiped out every living soul within these walls.

"Here... here, son. It's okay," her soothing voice reached me. Her gentle fingers stroked my hair, still sticky from the seawater, immediately snuffing out the fire threatening to burst from my eyes.

"Who saved you?" I questioned, wanting to carve her savior's name on the moon for all to see.

"The nurse said he brought me here. The Caped Crusader," she whispered.

My heart swelled with gratitude, and I felt an overwhelming urge to give Bruce Wayne the biggest bear hug of his life; it was probably a good thing he wasn't around.

I sank into the chair beside Mom's hospital bed. The morphine had finally taken hold, and she had drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

With a sigh, I plugged my charger into the wall socket and turned on my phone. The screen came to life with a sudden burst of notifications, each one like a tiny dagger to my heart. My throat tightened as I scanned through them, my pulse quickening with every swipe. My gaze stopped at the most recent one—from Mom.

I opened it, and a small map appeared on the screen. My heart leaped in my chest. She'd shared her location. The realization hit hard; she had called for help and I hadn't shown up when she needed me the most. I hadn't been able to protect her. A wave of guilt crashed over me. Tears welled up in my eyes, flowing freely as I looked at her, her chest rising and falling beneath the sterile hospital sheets.

I wiped the tears away with the back of my hand and made a mental note to run home as soon as I could. Grab her favorite blanket – the one she'd lovingly knitted, with its comforting scent of lavender. A few changes of clothes and some toiletries would also make her stay here a bit more bearable.

Glancing back at the text conversation with Mom, I noticed several missed calls, and then I turned to the next conversation – Pete.

"You missed my show 😞"

"It went great, got a standing ovation, thanks for asking"

"Yo"

"CK?"

[Missed call]

[Missed call]

[Missed call]

"You okay? You're scaring me, man"

[Missed call]

A knot tightened in my chest. I'd missed my best friend's first stand-up gig and had ghosted him for days. He must despise me.

"Man, I am so fucking sorry," I typed, my fingers flying across the screen. "I'd never have missed it unless it was life or death. We gotta talk. Can I meet you at the diner?"

I cursed under my breath and leaned my head against the wall behind me. A sharp crack resonated through the room. I winced, turning around to assess the damage. I offered a silent thanks to the wallpaper for concealing the fracture in the concrete wall.

Next up was Helena. I hesitated, my finger hovering over our conversation, before tapping it open.

[Missed call]

[Missed call]

"Hey, I thought you were against ditching class."

[Missed call]

"Everything alright? Can't reach you."

"I'm worried. Answer me."

[Missed call]

"Did I screw up that badly at the party? You don't wanna talk to me anymore?"

"When you decide I'm worthy of your attention, let me know."

If I could sweat, I'd be drenched by now. My fingers raced across the screen, crafting a hurried response. "Sorry for going AWOL. Something happened. I'll explain. Let's catch up on campus."

How the hell was I going to explain this to Helena? She had no clue about me, so how could I ever justify my sudden vanishing act? Telling her the truth was out of the question. I couldn't bear the thought of becoming a monster in her eyes.

I needed to have a heart-to-heart with Pete. He'd bailed me out of countless messes before. If anyone could help me concoct a believable tale, it was him.

A missed call from an unknown number flashed on the screen, and I had a hunch a certain someone was wondering where the hell I'd been after missing our training sessions. The Bat probably never imagined his once-trusted apprentice would become a living weapon, validating his initial concerns about my potential for harm.

My phone buzzed, and my heart jumped

"My shift ends in 5'" Pete's message blazed across the screen.

It was settled then. Pete first. Then Helena and Bruce. I had lies to cook up, apologies to serve, and a psychotic clown to hunt the fuck down.