"Your parents," Clark said quietly. "The news said they were killed when you were eight. I'm sorry."
"Thank you. It was a long time ago, but it changed everything. Made me see the world differently. Made me understand that normal doesn't really exist. Everyone's carrying something, Clark. Some people's burdens are just more visible than others."
They stood in silence for a moment, water from the sprinklers still dripping from their clothes. Around them, students were being directed back into the building now that the fire department had cleared the scene.
"I can't tell you what's happening to me," Clark finally said. "I don't even understand it myself."
"That's okay. You don't have to explain anything." Bruce pulled out his phone and opened a note. "But if you ever need someone to talk to, someone who won't freak out or judge you, here's my number. No pressure. No expectations. Just offering."
Clark looked at the number for a long moment. Then he pulled out his own phone, an old model that had probably been passed down from his parents, and entered the contact information.
"Why are you being nice to me?" he asked. "We just met."
"Because you look like you need a friend," Bruce said honestly. "And because I think you're a good person who's going through something difficult. Those people deserve support, not isolation."
"Even if I'm dangerous?"
"Are you planning to hurt anyone?"
"What? No! Never. I'd rather die than hurt someone."
"Then you're not dangerous," Bruce said firmly. "You're just scared. There's a difference."
Clark's eyes got slightly wet. He blinked rapidly, fighting tears. "Thank you. You, I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything. Come on, they're letting us back inside. Let's go find dry clothes before we catch pneumonia."
They walked back toward the school together. Bruce noticed Lana Lang watching them from across the parking lot, her dark eyes curious.
Whitney stood next to her, glaring at Clark with obvious hostility.
'Yeah, that's going to be a problem,' Bruce thought. 'But one problem at a time.'
The rest of the school day passed without major incident. Bruce shadowed Clark through classes, learning the rhythms of small-town high school life. It was simpler than Gotham Academy in many ways. Less pressure, less competition. But also more personal, more interconnected. Everyone knew everyone else's drama.
Lunch period arrived. Clark led Bruce to the cafeteria, a modest space with long tables and mediocre food. Pete Ross and Chloe Sullivan were already sitting at their usual table in the corner.
"Clark!" Chloe called out, waving them over.
"We heard about the fire in Chemistry. You okay?"
"Fine," Clark said quickly. "Just a lab accident. Nothing serious."
"Ms. Klein is saying it was a faulty beaker," Pete added. "But people are saying all kinds of wild stuff. Jenny Marshall swears she saw something weird right before the fire started."
Clark's face went pale.
Bruce jumped in smoothly. "I was right there. It was just a cracked beaker that couldn't handle the heat. People see what they want to see when they're scared."
Read more on Patreon marvelstark