Second period was Chemistry. The teacher, Ms. Klein, was setting up a lab demonstration about chemical reactions and heat. Bruce paid attention not to the lesson but to Clark's behavior.
The farm boy kept glancing at the bunsen burners with visible anxiety. His hands gripped the edge of the lab table, knuckles white. When Ms. Klein lit the first burner, Clark flinched and looked away.
'Heat vision trauma,' Bruce analyzed. 'He's probably started fires by accident. Now he's terrified of anything related to heat or flames. Classic anxiety response.'
The demonstration proceeded normally for the first ten minutes. Ms. Klein added chemicals to a beaker over the flame, explaining the reaction process. Students took notes.
Then Clark's hands started trembling.
Bruce saw it happening in slow motion. Clark's eyes were locked on the flame. His breathing had gotten shallow. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the air-conditioned classroom.
'He's losing control,' Bruce realized.
Clark squeezed his eyes shut, but it was too late.
A brief flash of red light escaped from behind his eyelids. Just for a split second, barely visible. The beaker over the bunsen burner cracked.
Crack!
Glass shattered. Liquid spilled onto the burner. Flames shot up higher than they should, reaching toward the ceiling.
Students screamed. Ms. Klein grabbed the fire extinguisher. Someone pulled the fire alarm.
BWAAAAA!
The alarm blared through the school. Sprinklers activated, drenching everyone. Ms. Klein put out the fire in seconds, but the damage was done. The lab was a mess, students were soaked, and everyone was talking at once.
Bruce looked at Clark.
The farm boy had his eyes open now, staring at the scorch marks on the ceiling. His face was pale, expression horrified. He knew what had happened. He'd done it again.
"Everyone out!" Ms. Klein shouted.
"Evacuate to the parking lot. Move!"
Students filed out in wet, chattering groups. Bruce hung back, letting others go first. Clark remained frozen at his lab station.
"Kent, that means you too," Ms. Klein said, checking the area for any remaining fires.
"Get outside."
Clark moved like a zombie, stumbling toward the door. Bruce followed, staying close but not too close.
Outside, the entire school had evacuated. Teachers did head counts. Students complained about being soaked. Someone made a joke about Kansas weather being so boring they had to manufacture excitement with fire drills.
Bruce found Clark standing apart from the groups, staring at his hands like they were weapons.
This was the moment. The decision point Bruce had been planning for.
He could walk away, let Clark spiral, wait for the inevitable breakdown that would force the truth out.
Or he could intervene. Show Clark that someone understood. Start building trust now, when the farm boy needed it most.
Bruce made his choice.
He walked over to Clark, casual and unhurried. "That was dramatic."
Clark didn't look up. "Yeah. Crazy accident."
"Was it?"
That got Clark's attention. His head snapped up, blue eyes wide with something between fear and desperation. "What do you mean?"
Bruce kept his voice low, just for Clark's ears. "I saw your face before the beaker cracked. You looked terrified. And then there was a flash of light, very brief, and suddenly things were on fire."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Clark." Bruce's tone was gentle but firm.
"I'm not here to judge you. I'm not going to tell anyone. But I saw what I saw. And I think you know exactly what happened in there."
Clark's breathing got faster. His hands clenched into fists. "You don't understand. Nobody understands. I'm trying so hard to control it, but it keeps happening. And I don't know why, I don't know what's wrong with me, I just..."
He cut himself off, realizing he'd said too much.
Bruce waited. Silence was often more effective than pressing.
Clark looked around, making sure no one else was close enough to hear. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. "How did you know?"
"I'm observant," Bruce said simply. "And I recognize the signs of someone trying very hard to hide something. You hold back in gym class. You move carefully, like you're afraid of breaking things. You flinch at sounds no one else hears."
"You let Whitney push you around even though you could stop him easily. And you panic around heat sources because you're afraid your eyes will do that thing again."
Clark stared at him. "Who are you?"
"Just someone who pays attention." Bruce met his gaze steadily. "And someone who knows what it's like to feel different. To feel like you don't fit anywhere. To be afraid of what you're capable of."
"I've had my own fair share of depression."
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