Hopeful Idiot

AN: Will be bouncing around more than a little bit. Canon taken from both old and new movies, as well as Smallville references. AU. Obviously.

AN2: Partially inspired by "Guidelines for Loving an Incognito Superhero" by SchadenFreude95

Prologue

Knowing that she would die if he didn't do something, he pulled away.

"No," the woman pleaded, trying desperately to keep holding him.

It was effortless for him to keep going. Less than effortless. It barely registered to him the woman's words or her actions. He'd barely felt her touch anyway. His mind was completely focused on what he needed to do. He didn't really have a choice. Either he did this, or she died.

No, there was no choice.

So, he pulled away from the crying human female whose hair was the wrong color, already flying barely inches off the ground. Speeding toward the kryptonite-tipped lance that had oh so recently been piercing his own side.

The female new-comer heroine had wrapped the abomination in some sort of glowing rope. She cried out in exertion, using all her strength to hold the creature in place to the best of her ability, yanking on the other end. Yet, her feet still slid. The strength of twenty men, perhaps more, he'd estimated from his brief contact, and still she had to yield ground.

He saw Batman out of the corner of his eye, lining up a weapon. Being human, whatever the man had built was already as much as he could contribute to this fight. He wouldn't last more than a second or two if he directly confronted the beast.

So, once again, Clark was forced to conclude that he was all that stood between this man-made abomination and her. His grip on the lance tightened and he pushed aside his nausea. The increasing pain wasn't important right now.

A part of his mind acknowledged that pain wasn't going to be important at all after this.

He sped up as much as he was able over the short distance, attempting to use physics in his favor. Inertial force. Angling himself to put as small a target facing the beast as possible, thus decreasing the surface area that would make impact, and consequently the lance tip would penetrate even deeper.

As soon as he hit, the monster catching all his momentum with barely a single step backward, he twisted the lance with a sharp turn of his wrist. Doing as much damage as possible in the millisecond collision.

He barely felt the lightning that instantly exploded out of the titan upon impact. It wasn't important. He didn't notice when the heroine lost her footing entirely. The cause of releasing the monster's arms had the effect of a sharp bone lance piercing his own chest. He screamed in agony, but he didn't lose his grip on the kryptonite lance.

It was her face that he saw as he reached forward to take hold of a protruding spike. Her golden-red hair brushing against his face as he nuzzled her neck.

He yanked himself forward, drilling the bone even farther, widening his own wound dangerously. Her hazel eyes crinkled in laughter. Laughing at him again.

His arm pushed the kryptonite lance forward even as he pulled himself up. But he didn't see the beast. No. He saw her eyes darkening to sapphire blue in arousal as his lips found that particular sweet spot at the point of her shoulder. His teeth grazed lightly again and again, drawing such sounds from her. Sounds he craved to hear again.

He didn't feel the column of intense heat exploding out of the abomination, out of the wound site, directly toward his form. Didn't feel as the monster's grip reflexively tightened around him in its last dying moments. No. He only felt a distant echo of its continuing presence. Barely registered the odd, new sensation of what must be broken bones, followed immediately by punctured organs.

Instead, he felt her soft skin beneath his fingertips. Tasted her flesh as he used his tongue to gently kiss each mole. Felt satisfaction as he successfully redirected her self-consciousness into pleading passion. Heard her moans of pleasure rise and fall with each stroke of his fingers.

Then… an endless sea of nothingness…

She wasn't here with him. He knew that. He also knew that it was alright. Her absence, at least in this case, was just fine. He didn't mind.

This wouldn't be the first time she had made him wait.

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. . . . LIGHT!

There was no warning.

No clue or hint of expectation.

From complete oblivion to an explosion.

SOUND!

LIGHT!

It overwhelmed him instantly.

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Where was he? Why did the nothingness pull at him? He didn't like it.

But no…the nothingness didn't have sound. Didn't have light. Didn't have cold.

This could not be the nothingness.

Which meant she could be here… He lost his battle with the pulling—gravity—and was jolted sideways and downward. He landed on a surface—ground, concrete—and stepped awkwardly only a time or two before he managed to regain his equilibrium.

He stared at the chunks of large rocks—broken, statue, big head?—that lay in front of a curving, layered wall filled with chiseled names. His mind filtered the data coming through his eyes, cataloging information and reminding himself of things that had once been important to him. However, these remembered new words were not in the forefront of his thoughts.

Where was she?

Why wasn't she here?

He'd waited for her.

He'd been patient.

So why wasn't she here?

Had something happened to her?

Kept her from him?

Who would hold her against her will?

Who had the ability?

Sharp metallic thunks reached his ears, making him turn around. One black-haired female in a dark-toned red, silver, and blue armored outfit he vaguely recalled seeing before. "He's back," she whispered in a tone he couldn't identify. He heard her clearly despite the volume she used and the distance between them. There was an older boy in a red jumpsuit. A younger man barely identifiable beneath such metal covering his body. And an older male, non-human, carrying a five-pointed trident.

As they made no hostile moves toward him, he simply stared back at them. However, he'd automatically angled his body to present them with the smallest possible target. Other than the woman, he didn't recognize them. Had no reason to trust them.

Why was the boy smiling at him?

He switched through newly-remembered modes of sight. Focusing on the trident-carrying oldest male, he filtered through seeing bones, muscles, electrical impulses.

Where was she?

Why wasn't she here?

He'd waited.

So long.

So very long.

"He's not alright." The oldest male stated, glancing to the side briefly before focusing on the possible threat. Smart.

He shifted his gaze along the line of four, rotating through visual modes. X-ray. Skeletons. Most normal, but the one on the end had metal bones. How odd.

Infrared. And some sort of radioactive central power source.

"He's scanning us," the metal-skeleton said in an odd reverberating tonality. It was either a good guess, or it had some way to detect his visual keys.

Was she unable to come to him?

Who had the ability to contain her?

"Arthur, you need to relax. You're adrenaline's spiking."

"Because he's not alright."

"Should we bow?" the boy asked. Of the four, the boy was the most innocent. He could hear it in those few words. "Or, or show our bellies?"

Who'd want to hold her?

Who'd know her significance to him?

He took a single step forward, almost a challenge. Wondering what they'd do. The one with the metal skeleton began to twitch in sharp jerks as his power core began to react to the threat he posed just by standing. Smart machine.

"Just think happy thoughts, Victor!" the boy again. Yes, innocent. Not a threat.

The other three however…

Were they keeping her from him?

He tilted his body out of the way as the machine finally won its battle over the human mind and fired a plasma bolt. He turned to watch the weaponfire and saw as the stone tablet behind him shattered. Slowly, he looked back at the group.

His mind, for the first time since the explosion of sound and light after the endless nothingness, was quiet. It was a menacing silence.

She would have called it 'cold rage'.

"Kal-El, no!" the black-haired beauty yelled.

However, his rage wasn't cold. It was an intense flame that he aimed and released; enough energy to incinerate flesh to ash. The machine blocked it; managed to angle a rapidly-generated shield and allow the turning force to push the beam away. He couldn't stop his plasma vision before a vehicle was cut in half lengthwise.

"He's confused. He doesn't know who he is."

He knew who he was.

Didn't he?

Or was it that he wasn't him without her?

"Pet Sematary," the boy was afraid, eyes wide behind the half-mask.

Yet, they were here and she wasn't.

He picked up a large boulder and threw it at the woman. She wasn't her! How dare this dark-haired woman be here and she wasn't?!

The woman almost casually deflected the projectile with a sword she drew with practiced ease. "Arthur, we need to restrain him."

Oh, so they thought to hold him now? There was only one who could accomplish such a fete, and she wasn't here.

Where was she?

He'd waited.

He lost several moments as his heart screamed a protest at this injustice. "Kal-El," the woman's voice caught his attention again, "the Last Son of Krypton." His brow furrowed in small confusion. Krypton? Kal-El? "Remember who you are." Such calm tones as she spoke.

Just like she spoke sometimes.

Who was he without her?

How dare they try to keep her from him!

"Tell me who y—" He grabbed the glowing rope and yanked. The dark-haired woman cried out as she was pulled directly into his grasp. He didn't grab her flesh—a piece of his mind yelled in protest at the idea of physically harming any female—but still held her armor in such a way as to pull her bodily off her feet.

He wasn't sure what he would've done next, but wasn't bothered by decisions as the others began to attack. He caught the trident with his other hand. Then the metal skeleton grabbed his biceps, trying to break his hold on the first two.

The boy took that millisecond to move faster than a human should've been able. White lightning streaked over his form as he tried to maneuver around, get behind him. To do what, he did not know, but he would not give the child a chance either. He knew he lost moments of awareness as he defended himself.

"Clark!"

He turned, attracted by the sound of a new player, then was momentarily frozen. "I know you," he whispered. Blasphemy. Sacrilege. The first sounds he'd made in so very long…and they hadn't been said to her.

This man entirely clad in black was an enemy. A powerful enemy. This one had hurt him. He took steps forward.

A clang as the woman landed from above in front of him. Her voice was determined, but also sad. Resigned. "Please. Don't make me do this."

A piece of his returning mind told him that this woman would never hurt an innocent. She defended the weak. Yet she was standing between him and his enemy. A man powerful enough to keep her from him. A man who not only had the ability to do so, but hated him enough to hurt her.

She wasn't here.

It must be because his enemy held her.

He charged forward. She raised her forearms to block his blow, but seemed surprised when he wrenched them apart and butted his head against her own. She gave a small cry of pain, took a half-second to recover, then hit him back in the same manner even harder. He scowled at her and drove her into the ground hard enough to make her grunt again. She stayed in the resulting crater.

With her out of his way, he stepped and hit his enemy with such force to dent the side of the vehicle that was hit. "Alfred, I need the big gun." He stopped the words as he grabbed his enemy around the chin and squeezed.

He fought against the pulling of gravity and they both rose into the air, his enemy dangling from his hand. "You did this," he hissed.

"I had to." Harsh words. Harsh timbre.

He was back to cold rage. "You won't let me live." His enemy had created a weapon with the singular purpose of ending his life. All because this black-clad human thought he was owed something. Revenge? Apparently, his death hadn't been vengeance enough. "You won't let me die."

"The world needs you."

She lived in this world. Was she in danger?

At the very least, this enemy posed a threat to him…and to her. "But does it need you?" he growled. He pulled his enemy closer and repeated words he remembered. "Tell me… Do you bleed?" The brown eyes looking at him held pain, but not fear. He wanted his enemy to feel fear. Wanted him to know what he'd felt at those same words.

"Clark?" A voice. Female. Not the dark-haired armor-clad one though.

He turned to look as a woman hurried toward him. Golden-red hair shifted in waves down past her shoulders. Blue eyes stared at him in fear and hope. "Clark." Her breath came in deep gulps. "Please."

His brows furrowed in confusion. The hair was the wrong shade. The eyes held no green. Her voice a third too high. Who was she?

Why was she here, and yet she wasn't?

He'd waited.

She must have seen his expression for worry entered her voice. "Clark?"

His enemy must have her.

Kept her from him!

His brows released as he refocused on the man he held. He squeezed his fingers a degree more. He wanted to see fear in those eyes before they greeted oblivion.

"Idiot?"

His whole body jerked, every piece of his being turning to face the new female in a nanosecond. The tone was familiar. A question. A call. A name. He knew that voice! The timbre. The cadence. Behind that one word, such emotion.

There were tears on her cheeks as she looked up at him. "Well? Are you coming down?" her voice broke several times.

Memories collided with reality and his fingers opened to unceremoniously drop the black-clad human. Now that she was here, the male wasn't important. He dropped himself to the grass directly in front of her.

Her smaller hand shook slightly as it came up to cup his cheek, as if afraid he'd disappear. He closed his eyes as he once again felt her touch. Smelled her skin.

He had gone from oblivion to sound and light…but now he had COLOR… She was the only one who gave his life color. Meaning. "Hope," he whispered.

She choked on a sob, the tears having never stopped falling. Nodded. "Idiot." So much emotion in that one word. An insult long since become an endearment.

"Hope," he whispered again. Pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her. Secure. Safe. "My Hope."

She held him back so very tightly. "My idiot." She took a deep breath through her nose, breathing in his unique scent. Trying to convince herself he was really here. "Take us home, Idiot." She softly ordered, as close to a plea as she would ever get. "Take me to bed."

He gave a short soft laugh, leaning his cheek against her hair. Felt the strands caress his skin. He gently lifted them into the air. "As my queen commands." He turned his head just so to brush his lips against hers. He groaned. The taste of her exploded across his tongue.

Exploded his memory…

First Superman fanfic of any type. Please let me know what you think: what you liked, didn't like (constructive criticism please), if I should keep going, etc.