I don't own these characters except for Paul, Mr. Witmore, and Mrs. Phillips. I do not make money from this, so please enjoy for free.

There was supposed to be a snowstorm that night: a big one. Clark could probably still have flown through it to do his job at his usual time in his usual way. But his boss didn't know that. So, Mr. Witmore had asked Clark to come by the grocery store after school let out and restock shelve as nearly every shopper in Smallville was in the process of unstocking them.

While in the process of putting boxes of cereal up to replace those taken, Clark heard sloshing sounds, a lot of them, all clustered together. Even so, he would have thought nothing of them if they were heading in the direction of the register, but they were headed for the door from an aisle straight for the doors. Clark rushed over only as fast as it would take to reach the doors before them. He hoped, even expected, the sloshing sounds to be made by a customer planning for the coming storm so intently they'd just forgotten to pay for what they were carrying. These hopes mostly died when he came face to face with his childhood bully.

Clark's shoulders fell before he addressed the other teenager. "Paul …"

Paul's face creased up and flushed red as Clark glanced down as his suspiciously stuffed looking winter coat. "What do you want, Kent?"

"Do you have something under your coat?"

"No!"

People were beginning to walk up behind Paul to leave. They stopped a few strides away from the confrontation to stare at Clark's front and Paul's back. Clark glanced at them and swallowed before lowering his voice to continue to conversation.

"Paul, I know you've got unpaid for bottles of liquor. You shouldn't be drinking at all. You're the same age as me."

"They're for my uncle and I paid for them! I just wanted them to stay warm and avoid breaking them!"

Clark raised an eyebrow. Even from behind the register and with a line of customers before him, Mr. Witmore called the would-be shoplifter out, "You never bought those Paul. I'd have remembered. I've been here the whole time."

Instead of glaring at Mr. Witmore for pausing in helping them make their purchases and leave, most of the customers in line were staring at Clark and Paul as well. Some were whispering.

Instead of replying, Paul cocked back a fist and swung it at Clark. Clark's attention was more caught by two of the bottles under Paul's coat slipping from their hiding places to fall to the floor, though. Knowing their price, and thus worth to Mr. Witmore, as well as the mess they'd make and danger of broken glass on the store's busiest day of the year, he dove for them more than ducked Paul's fist. The other teen's swing not only missed, but his feet backed away at the sudden lunge in their direction. Paul was not the only one to stare open-mouthed at the bottles sitting in the palms of each of Clark's hands with his fingers wrapped up around their sides.

Clark glanced around at the watching crowd and gulped. He was pretty sure this was what his pa would call "showing off." He stood, slipped around Paul, and put the bottles back where the other teen had gotten them listening to the whispers and the doors closing behind Paul's running feet. From the x-ray glance at the other teen's armful under his coat, he knew his once classmate had gotten away with a third bottle, and he hadn't stopped him.

Clark's muscles bunched up and fists clenched. Should he run after him? Should he not? Was showing off more worth interfering, was it wrong to prevent more suspicion falling on himself to let Mr. Witmore lose the money?

He heard his boss' approach, but still flinched when his hand landed on his shoulder and blushed at the older man's words. "Thanks Clark. That must have taken a lot of courage."

Clark turned wide surprised eyes on him. Did he not see how fast I moved? Could he have at that angle, or did other people or the counter block his gaze? Does he not realize Paul walked out of the store with another bottle? Of course not, how could he? Should I tell him?

"I … think another bottle should be here!"

"Oh, Paul probably got away with another one then. But he didn't get away with three. I appreciate the loyalty and selflessness there."

"I … you should probably get back to the register."

"Mrs. Phillips is running it for me. She worked it for me the winter after her husband broke his leg."

"Oh yeah …" Clark remembered that and could hear the register being run now.

"Anyway, I wanted to come check on ya make sure that you were okay."

"I'm fine."

"Good. Great reflexes." He gave Clark a slap on the shoulder, turned and walked back to the register.

Clark frowned and listened to the whispers around the store. Some were about Paul and his uncle and the shame of shoplifting, others were about him, his courage and his reflexes. And how he didn't even play sports. Clark swallowed again as shame filled him. He spoke to his boss' back. "Uh … I can still go after Paul and …" What am I saying? Pa and ma are gonna 'kill' me!

Mr. Whitmore turned back, but kept walking backward as he replied. "Naw, Clark, the job description doesn't call for ya to get your head knocked off. Just finish up the stocking and don't bother with the cleaning. We'll get that done once we've dug out from the storm, and grab enough supplies for you and your folks before heading home."

Clark nodded turned and went back to his work like Mr. Witmore said, feeling shame for both what he had and had not done.

. . .

"Well Clark, I admit that was a hard scenario."

Clark nodded at his Pa's words after he had gone home. His Ma, not much of an optimist, still tried this time. "At least no one saw you flying."

"How do I even fly? It doesn't make any sense. I mean, I enjoy it, when no one's around. But how does it make sense? Scientists could try to capture or pay me to do it in front of them and their instruments just to figure that out.

His parents looked at each other. His pa looked back at him first. "Much as I wanna tell you to be careful Clark, I'm proud of you for standing up for your boss and his business, even in front of the neighbors."

Clark raised his head and met his pa's gaze some of the wrinkles on his face falling away. He was surprised, but felt a little better at the older Mr. Kent's words. His ma's made his frown return a bit.

"Plus, young Paul does not need that liquor anyway … particularly when he and his uncle are gonna be alone together for a while."

Clark looked up with wide eyes … "His uncle doesn't …"

His pa cleared his throat, interrupting. "Not like his pa did anyway, not that we can tell, but they do yell and cabin fever … can do things to a man … or two."

Clark swallowed for a different reason.

Sorry this chapter is so late and so short guys. My family has been having a hard time lately. I'll try to have another longer chapter up earlier next time.

God bless

ScribeofHeroes