A/N: I have like 10 other things I should be writing/doing but last week's SG (Homecoming) really hit home with me and well, I understand why they cut to Kara at the end b/c the main arc for that episode was Mon-El learning to listen and do what Kara needed and then he was trying but Alex really deserved more development of her feelings b/c realizing your dad isn't who you thought is the absolute worst. Now, my dad didn't betray me to endanger an entire category of living beings but I did realize he wasn't the man I thought he was. And let me tell you, there aren't words to appropriately convey the feeling. It taking me years to deal with but Alex got about 30 secs of reaction? This story doesn't focus solely on Alex though. Not really. I'm more of an OC writer so we're doing that. But we are going to develop that specific 'my dad isn't my hero' realization that she has. And, I wanted to explore some other things with what would happen if there was another Danvers sister. She is kind of Alex's foil but not exactly. She isn't used to highlight Alex but more what could have happened if Alex hadn't been driven toward perfection. I'm also trying out a different POV thing. Anyways, without further ado, Meet Sam Danvers and hopefully you enjoy. Sorry for the massive pre-reading reading.

National City was different. Cleaner in some ways but dirty dive bars were everywhere and it never mattered how crime free the city was, the best ones always felt a little seedy. The three guys in the back corner looked less than friendly, the bartender relied mostly on grunts and dirty looks to communicate; Yea, this was an easy place for her to be. Drink away some of the stress. Much needed after days of meetings and hearings and being given 'accommodations for her convenience.' Detained. She had been detained by the Army to ensure that she didn't do anything more to upset them.

Her commanding officer had given her the news. An attempt to keep it all hush-hush. Really, they were doing her a favor but it was hard to be grateful.

"Private Danvers." Lieutenant Varela started, grave and hard. Bad news then, not that Sam was expecting anything else. "You're being discharged."

"I gathered as much."

"Danvers. You are still a soldier, for however many more hours, you will address me with the respect expected of you until that time."

"Yes, sir." Sam had to stop an eyeroll. This was part of the problem. It was what definitely got her here. Her refusal to submit or back down. Stupid pride and irrational behavior. Sam could really care less if she was being honest. It was bound to happen eventually.

"You're not a half bad soldier, Danvers but I can't keep covering for you. I did what I could. You're being generally discharged." Well, that was surprising. Varela must have pulled strings, called in favors, and bribed at least three other officers. "But, you will not reenlist and your benefits will be minimal. You will sign an affidavit to prevent you from speaking about any of this."

"What? Uh, sir." She threw in hastily.

"You should've been other than honorably discharged, Danvers. They were fighting for no benefits, nothing. Regardless of your stubborn stupidity, you don't deserve that. I suggest you keep your head down and your mouth shut for once in your life. Just get this done and go."

That was her last conversation with the man and it had only been earlier that morning. It felt so long ago now. And she did what he said. Kept her head down, kept her mouth shut. Then she was in front of the base with nowhere to go. Not home. Her mother was the last person she wanted to see.

National City wasn't far. Alex and Kara were there. Not that Sam wanted to see them either, god did she not want to see anyone with the last name Danvers, but it was National City or some suburban stop the bus was going to make. National City it was then. Specifically, a shady bar in National City where she could nurse her wounds with a drink.

The door banging open and a jumble of loud, drunk voices broke the relative quiet of the bar. Snapping Sam's focus on her lack of job, place to live, and utter shit hand she'd been dealt. A group of frat-looking guys came in. Hollering at the barkeep and bumping into tables before setting up camp in the middle of the room. One of them making his way to the bar.

"Hey." He called out to get the bartender's attention. His voice condescending with an arrogant edge. It would've grated Sam's nerves on a good day and sober. Now, it had her clenching her jaw and gripping her glass to keep from saying anything.

The bartender didn't seem bothered. Stopping silently in front of the young man and waiting for his order. He rattled off different beers, turning and shouting to his friends when he forgot what they wanted. No concern for who he was disrupting. Not a care in the entire world. Sam took a long pull from her glass, draining it and motioning to the bartender for another. He stopped filling the frat boys' order to top her off.

"Hey." The boy slurred, indignant. Command seeping into his voice. It was awkward on him but he was obviously used to people doing as he wanted. "Ya know, we ordered first so I'd appreciate if you'd finish before helping others."

"Technically," Sam drawled, lifting her glass and looking at him, "I ordered first. About an hour ago."

He sneered at her. Eyeing her up and down, lingering on the duffle under her feet. "I doubt you mind waiting. It looks like you have the time to spare."

"And it looks like you could learn some manners."

The bartender interrupted their petty back and forth with his drinks. Sam kept her glare trained on him as he gathered them up and walked back to his friends. Pressing back a low growl at how many idiots were in the world, she took a drink.

Sip by sip, her grip on her temper was loosening. It wasn't the alcohol's fault. No, it was the group of obnoxious, pretty boys. The three scary gentlemen from the back had left minutes earlier, glaring at the group. The bartender was visibly annoyed but treated them well enough, let them go. They were purchasing a steady stream of drinks that he wouldn't be caught complaining about. Not with how deserted the place was earlier in the night.

"Hey, excuse me!" The original frat boy was back at the bar. Sloppy and yelling for the bartender even though he was only feet away. "Can we get another round? Maybe quicker this time?"

Sam didn't say anything. She didn't have to. Instead, she glared at him, waiting for him to notice. She was pretty sure he'd do the rest.

"Can I help you?"

Here we go, Sam thought. "Yea. Like I said before, you could learn some manners instead of being an insufferable dick."

That puffed him up. His face screwing into disbelief that she would say that to him. Sam knew his type. Overly masculine and eager to prove it.

"Careful, little girl." He took a step toward her, trying to impose his height. It made her want to laugh. "Might wanna watch your mouth before it gets you in trouble."

That did make her laugh. Loud and haughty. "I'm pretty sure you'd be no trouble at all."

"Excuse me!?"

"Hey." The bartender interrupted. His voice as gruff as his grunting. "If you're gonna fight, you're gonna leave."

Sam looked at him, unconcerned. A smile on her face. "There's no need to fight. He's smart enough not to pick a fight he can't win." She looked back to him. "Right, big guy?"

Military experience didn't key her into what the frat boy was doing. Her years of playground brawls and hallway fights before the army did. The sloppy shift to put weight on his back foot, the too-far-cock back of his arm. Sam threw an elbow before his fist could reach her.

She felt the crack of his nose right as his fist landed. Off target and softened by her own blow, glancing off her cheek. A chorus of yells and alarm went up behind them. Sam let his blow carry her off her stool, stumbling back but on her feet and ready.

The frat boy rushed her to tackle and Sam let him, planting her feet wide and dropping her weight to stop him from moving her too much. He didn't have the size advantage like he thought he did. Maybe a few inches. She managed to throw him off and into the bar. Now, it was time to play with him. Sam had no desire to pummel him. Just work out some of that stress the old-fashioned way. The buzz she built up only helping.

"Bitch." He spit out, pushing off the bar and throwing a wild punch. Sam stepped out of its path and landed her own to his stomach. He handled it better than she thought he would. Grunting and leaning into the contact but not for long enough. Another punch hit about the same spot on her cheek. Sam hissed and stumbled back, pissed. Frat boy seemed pleased with himself, smirking at her and waving a hand toward himself. "Oh come on. Done already?"

That ticked her off even more. Enough that she missed the whoop of police sirens outside. It was Sam's turn to rush her opponent. She shoved him, following with a punch to his gut then to his face. The shout of 'NCPD, stop!' froze Sam mid-punch. Too late to deny her role, impossible with the trickle of blood she could feel on her cheek, Sam relaxed with hands held out for the cops to see. They wasted no time in cuffing her and the frat boy. His friends quick to quiet down and stay out of trouble. Her last glimpse of the bar, as she was being led out, was the bartender speaking with an officer. Gesturing at her and the frat boy, then to her seat at the bar. This wasn't going to go well for her.