Bite the Bullet Chapter 2, a superman fanfic

…Alright, Clark knew all about the fool me once, fool me twice saying, but he figured that maybe this could be an exception.

After all, he hadn't even realized he'd been 'fooled,' the first time around, not that he was fooled at all, exactly. If you really thought about it.

It's not as if the assassins purposely tricked him into not dying; if anything, Clark was quite sure that that was the opposite of what they intended. Well, it could also be reasoned that he was fooled in the sense that he never saw the attempts coming. Or going, since he… well, since he didn't notice them at all.

The point Clark was trying to make was that there may have been at least one other time that he'd had an attempt made on his life before he'd finally cottoned on.

In his defense, he normally was more aware. It was just… ever since realizing the extent of his powers, his near invulnerability, he'd started losing some touch in the sense that he didn't really focus on his self-awareness as Clark Kent. As Superman, it was a necessity, especially considering that he was susceptible to kryptonite. However, in his civilian identity that only his fellow League members even knew that he had, he didn't have to concern himself about the rare green stone coming into contact with himself. Which meant that, really, he didn't have much to worry about at all. All of this to say that, as Clark, it was easy to forget that he should technically still be more aware of his 'mortality' - outwardly, that is.

However, not to shift the blame but… he was quite sure that the assassins were at least making some attempt to make it look like an accident… the first few times.

[2 months, 23 days ago]

Clark checked his watch again, then picked up his pace, mindlessly apologizing to fellow pedestrians as his broad shoulders bumped into them in his hurry.

He resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair as his legs pumped down the sidewalk, well aware that his gelled-back look was one that was far too easily ruffled.

Instead, he quickened further, making sure to keep his pace still within reasonable levels as he speed-walked with broad steps, briefcase clutched tightly in his hand as he hurried down the block towards his destination.

He didn't make it a habit of being late - in fact, he tried his best to never be when he could help it. However, the time he'd allocated towards checking in on Ms. Sachrine's dogs ended up overextending well past the length he'd thought it would, as 'Pickliepoo' - the smaller of his neighbor's two canines - had quite apparently had an accident all over the rug at the front door, so Clark had had to bust out the cleaning supplies and rush to scrub out the stains before the smell could soak in.

Which meant that he was running rather late by the time he'd finished up with the pups, and he was now pushing his human limits to hurry on over to get there somewhat in time.

If he'd been headed for the office, he'd probably have been fine, but his coworker Mrs. Clancy had privately emailed him about a new scoop - one that she'd like to get his personal opinion of before bringing the case to the higher ups at the Planet - and the place was further away than his usual transit.

Truthfully, Clark had found it rather odd, especially considering that the address she'd sent him was to what he was quite sure was an abandoned warehouse, but when he'd hesitantly told her as much, she'd insisted that the location was pertinent to the case.

Well, he had no reason to doubt her messages, so here he was, heading over on what would've otherwise been a lazy Saturday so that they could discuss all of the relevant issues and see if it was, in fact, a worthy case. One that he had yet to hear even an inkling about.

He snapped out of his thoughts as he finally found himself arriving at the building, and he slowed to a stop, head tilting gradually as he peered at the place.

… It definitely did look quite… dilapidated, he couldn't help but think.

He did hope that Mrs. Clancy hadn't thought it best to go directly to the scene of a crime. The building certainly did look more likely of a set for one than for a friendly meeting of any kind.

Speaking of Mrs. Clancy, however - he didn't hear any heartbeats in the warehouse.

He glanced down at his watch again and winced. He was nearly ten minutes late. It wasn't much, but it still felt rude considering it was a meeting of only two. He hoped that she hadn't left already and was instead running late herself. It was possible; there were plenty of reasons to be late: look at Clark for an example.

That in mind, he cautiously pushed open the front door, cringing slightly and surreptitiously peeking at his sides to check whether any of his fellow pedestrians were watching as the hinges creaked loudly with the groan of rusted metal.

Oddly enough, he noted that the street behind him seemed to be rather deserted.

He shook it off and withheld the innate desire to sneeze as a cloud of dust greeted his entrance, pushing his glasses further up his nose and stepping inside.

Hm.

It was… dark.

Well, that was to be expected, he supposed, considering that the only two windows he'd seen at the front of the warehouse had both been nailed shut with wooden boards.

"Mrs. Clancy…?" he uselessly called, wandering deeper into the building.

The door fell shut behind him with a solid clang, cutting off the rest of the light that'd been filtering through, and his shoulders sagged as he let out a weary sigh. He could still see fine, for the most part, of course, but this truly wasn't the start of his day that he'd hoped it'd be.

He tried listening in for the faint hum of electricity to see if he could possibly find a light switch, but the buzzing in the walls was tellingly absent.

He paused, tilting his head to the side; his brows furrowed quizzically.

That was odd.

There wasn't the typical buzz that accompanied a current, no, but there were several oddly rhythmic ticks instead.

Just…

Tick-Tick-Tick-Tick-Tick-Tick

All on top of each other, from different directions in the building.

Almost like the ticking of a watch except more digital than the mechanical ones that made the familiar sound.

In fact, he was quite sure he'd heard this exact sound before.

His eyes widened, the ticking picked up exponentially, and he had just enough time to zip himself over to the most distanced corner of the warehouse before the entire building literally exploded with a series of thundering booms and screeching crashes,flames bursting to life in plumes of orange blazes across the shaking edifice.

The sounds were too imminent and ringing in his ears for him to tell if it was safe to fly out of the warehouse, as he wasn't sure if anyone had seen him enter as his civilian self, so he was stuck as everything imploded inwards around him, his briefcase tossed to the wayside as he ducked around pieces of the walls and ceiling that were crumbling inwards, flames roaring in every direction as he weaved between the ongoing destruction.

One enormous chunk dropped down towards him, and he swiftly punched through it, shattering the concrete into smaller pieces that flew apart and smashed into the far walls (if they could even be considered as such anymore), dust raining down on him.

Golly, his hair was probably such a mess.

The wall to his left gave a crackling groan, sagging inwards on itself and slowly collapsing with a monumental crash, wafting a tsunami of flames in Clark's direction.

He sped away from it, careful not to singe his already ash-covered suit, and absconded himself in what seemed to be a relatively stable nook where a pillar had collapsed against a remnant of another wall, creating a burrow that was more or less protected from more destruction.

Daylight filtered in from, well, everywhere, as there was no longer a roof or four walls protecting the warehouse from the sun's rays.

The destruction, as he took it all in, was all encompassing and surprisingly devastating. The bombs had clearly been strategically placed to take down the entire structure, and Clark definitely wouldn't've had the time nor the knowledge to hide himself away where he was now in time for the bombs to start going off - if he had been a normal human.

He took a moment to simply crouch in his chosen spot, and then he spread his senses out again - now that the sounds had dulled down to only the crackling of fires and the occasional falling of a wayward piece of debris - and realized that something of a crowd was beginning to form at the front of the building.

He grimaced to himself. Not ideal.

However, he did notice that there were only four heartbeats around the back, the side he was currently closest to.

He took a moment to weigh his options, then gave a simple shrug, a puff of soot clouding out in front of him.

Which was how he found himself stumbling out of the building not two minutes later, pulling himself up over a waist-high piece of uneven wall and promptly collapsing over it in a tumbling heap.

There was a strangled noise as the first of the group caught sight of him, and Clark looked up just in time to see the man fumbling around to smack rapidly at his companions shoulder, gesturing wildly towards Clark.

Huh. It looked like they were construction workers. All four of them were wearing the designated attire, helmets and all, and there was even a sturdy looking vehicle close by, though he couldn't see the company label from the angle he was at.

He came back to himself as one of the workers muttered a series of strained expletives, and he took a moment to fix his crooked glasses as he brushed an idle hand against the shoulder of his likely ruined business suit, a veritable pile of dust and ash being swept off with the movement.

He cleared his throat, shoulders hunching as he let a look of embarrassment take over his face while he rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck, coming to a stop in front of the small huddle of workers.

"I'm s-so sorry folks; I-I hadn't realized the building was up for de-demolition and just wandered on in," he stutteringly admitted, ducking his head in an effort to guilelessly peer up at the others despite how he invariably towered over them in height. "Th-that s-sure was p-p-pretty scary," he nervously chuckled, glancing back over to the utterly decimated building.

It wasn't difficult to come to the conclusion that the building had been set up for demolition now that he knew the construction workers were out here, and he could've smacked himself upside the head for not having realized earlier.

Three of the four gaped at him in absolute shock, one going so far as to drop the… hm…? Well, Clark wasn't quite sure what it was. It appeared to be a switch of some sort - a small remote with only a button or two. Ah. It was likely for the demolition set; though, that didn't exactly scream safety in terms of mandated protocol.

Irregardless of Clark's musings, the final man spoke up, catching his attention.

"How are you…" they trailed off, seemingly at a loss. A bead of sweat trickled down their temple and soaked into the handkerchief covering the lower half of their face.

Deciding to interpret the man's words, Clark gave a thankful smile to him, easily glossing over the other's responding perturbed expression, and replied, "I, well, I think I'm fine." His sentence ended in something of a question as he took a moment to check over himself, patting at his ash-covered shirt and slacks. He blinked back up at the worker, lips quirking up in a genial, if flustered, smile. "Wow, I really got l-lucky there, didn't I?" he joked shakily, tossing a thumb over his shoulder at the smoldering building.

The man swallowed, and his coworkers took several hesitant steps back.

Clark's brows quirked in light confusion. What -

Ah.

His expression cleared, and he flapped a hand placatingly. "I-I won't be making an - ah, a statement or anything, about this," he clarified, gesturing again to the wreckage he'd walked out of. "It was my own f-fault," he claimed with a hangdog shrug of his shoulders, fiddling with his fingers.

It was, in fact, not exactly entirely his own fault, considering that it was Mrs. Clancy who had decided on the location, but he didn't want to drag her in on this. He was just happy enough that she wasn't there to be caught up in it all. That could've been a disaster. And, anyways, the less attention he drew to himself, the better.

The construction worker again swallowed audibly, his Adam's apple bobbing under his mask. "Y-yes, n-no worries, sir," he replied faintly. He looked rather dazed.

Clark pushed down his instinctual concern and instead smiled blankly, shoulders straightening out somewhat. "Well then, I'll, ah, I'll be off; it's around time for brunch, I'd think," he said more brightly, chest puffing up and causing another layer of dust to waft off him. "I hope you folks have a swell rest of your day!" he farewelled, giving a jovial - if shy - wave as he turned on his heel, purposefully stumbling over thin air and catching himself at the very last moment, hands pinwheeling comically.

He laughed sheepishly with a hesitant glance back at the workers from over his shoulder, ducking his head and picking up his pace as he hurried past the burning remains of the warehouse without a third glance behind.

[Meanwhile, the 'workers']

"What the hell is he," whispered the second in command of the group, removing their construction hat and clutching it to their chest with white knuckled fingers.

The leader shook his head faintly, tugging his handkerchief down off his chin and licking his lips once, twice, before finding his voice. "Impossible," was all he said.

It was enough.

The third member, with the bomb switch, had yet to pick up said device that'd slipped through their nerveless fingers. "We took out the entire building," they emphasized, swaying on their feet.

Number two shook their head. "The luck he'd have to have…" they trailed off, and the fourth and last of them scoffed.

"'Luck,'" they repeated disbelievingly, tsking.

"Yeah, well, what else could it be?" Number two snapped back, coming out of their reverie.

Four rolled their eyes derisively. "Meta?" they provided, tone signifying it should've been obvious, though it dipped slightly into uncertainty.

Three snorted. "No way. That guy? A meta? He tripped over his own two feet," they dismissed.

"And?" Two questioned, raising a brow, but the group's leader was slowly shaking his head.

"No…" he rasped, staring off into the middle distance, their target long having left their sights. "He… that… is something of the likes of which we've never faced before…"

[Clark Kent, forty minutes later]

Clark resisted the urge to smack his forehead, letting out a blustering exhale as he all but collapsed onto his armchair with a groaning creak of the worn frame.

He'd already changed out of his soot-covered clothes, and, now, staring at the email he'd received from his coworker Mrs. Clancy not even ten minutes before the appointed time of their meetup, he nearly groaned.

He could've avoided the entire situation he'd so shortly before found himself in, since, as it turned out, Mrs. Clancy had had a last minute hold up that necessitated her canceling on him, which in turn explained her lack of attendance.

Clark sighed again, sinking further into his cushions and frisking a hand through his still damp hair.

Well, nothing to it.

All's well that ends well.