SEASON TWO One Universe: Unlimited 3,562 feet up ♦ Metropolis
Superboy hovered three and a half thousand feet over the city of Metropolis. His city, ever since the big guy up and abandoned his post for reasons the world would never know. The weight of responsibility had never felt so heavy. Tension roiled all the way from his fingers to his feet. His back was knotted, stiff. An intense pain gnawed inside his chest. He let out a deep, unsteady breath, and tried to relax. Tried to let his limbs fall limp and his heartrate slow.
It didn't take.
The wind cracked like thunder as it whipped around his head. An airplane roared by a few thousand feet above him. And there was, too, the ever-present cacophony coming from the streets below. He could barely hear his own thoughts with everything ringing in his ears this close to the earth. Usually, if Superboy wanted a moment's peace, he'd soar far higher. He'd fly until and the blues, whites and greys of the sky turned to the stark black of space. It was quiet up there. It was the only place that was quiet, really.
But the thought of being that high up made his stomach churn. His wounds- barely a week old- seemed to tear themselves anew at even the thought of entering the thermosphere. That awful moment played back in his mind in perfect clarity.
" I want you to...fly up into orbit and let yourself fall."
All Westfield did was mutter a few, half-hearted words, and Superboy was gone. His consciousness arrested within his own body, severed from all control. Forced to watch from behind his eyes as he flew higher and higher to a place he'd once called his haven. He fought so goddamn hard to stay there. To clench his fist. To cry out for help.
But he couldn't.
And then he started to fall.
Superboy wasn't sure which was worse: the fall itself, or the impact. The latter brought the pain, of course. It broke him. Severed muscles in his back and snapped his arm in twain. Multiple ribs collapsed like twigs under a boot. A pierced lung. He could still recall the warm taste of blood flowing into his mouth and throat as he tried to breathe.
But the terror that had seized him on the way down- that choking fog of helplessness- is what kept him up at night. It was all he dreamt of now, and he couldn't fly any higher than four thousand feet into the air without fear dragging him back down to the earth.
'Coward,' He sneered. 'You think you can step up to the plate for Supes and you're afraid of frickin' heights.'
It took all his strength to hold back the flood of panic and anxiety. No time for this. No time to throw a pity-party for the poor little clone. Everything that'd happened was squarely his own damn fault. He'd gone after Knockout without a second thought. He'd torn Suicide Slum apart to sate his own ego. And he was the one who'd gotten the brilliant idea of bringing a civilian into all this.
Pain shot through his heart at the thought of Tana Moon, that brave, stupid intern at the Daily Planet he'd dragged into CADMUS's line of fire. He thought the Planet could help him uncover the heinous shit the company was up to. That paper had brought down titans of industry, mob bosses, supervillains- they were the only ones he thought he could bring his story to.
But he didn't talk to Perry White, or Lois Lane. He talked to an intern. He told her far more than was safe and then, when she wanted to take it public, he'd panicked. Clambered on back to Westfield because he thought he could figure it out himself.
He'd led CADMUS's cleaners right to her.
Because of him that girl was gone. Maybe dead. Maybe held in a black site somewhere.
'Gotta find out where they took her. My mistake, my responsibility. Better than sittin' here wallowin'.'