The next day, Green Lantern changed into a tailored outfit that fit him like a second skin and stopped by a flower shop to buy his mother's favorite carnations. He stood there longer than necessary, staring at the bouquet as if it were something fragile enough to break beneath the weight of memory.
When he stepped out onto the sidewalk, he paused. After a moment of quiet deliberation, he removed the expensive jacket he had just bought and folded it over his arm. In its place, he slipped on the worn gray flight jacket he had always treasured. The fabric carried the faint scent of engine oil and sky, ghosts of another lifetime.
Look at me, Super Flight Crash.
The sharp voice of a child cut through his thoughts.
Hal turned his head. A little boy was operating a remote control, guiding a model airplane through the open sky above the street. A girl in a pink dress chased after him, laughing breathlessly as she tried to keep up.
James, slow down. If you break the plane again like last time, Mom will definitely scold you.
No way, I am the greatest pilot in the world.
The boy's protest was filled with conviction, but bravado did not help when his foot caught on a crack in the pavement. He stumbled forward and hit the ground. The controller slipped in his hands. The model airplane jerked violently, spiraled, and dove toward the concrete.
Bang.
The crash never came.
Hal stepped forward and caught the plane midair with effortless precision. He crouched beside the boy and examined it with a professional eye.
Uh oh, your control method is off. You cannot yank the tail rotor when you move back and forth. And the elevator has alignment issues, that is why it cannot maintain balance.
He adjusted the tiny wing slightly, then handed the plane back.
Thank you, Uncle, but how do you know that?
The boy's eyes were wide with curiosity.
Hal gave a small, crooked smile and tapped the commemorative badge pinned to his flight jacket.
Because I am the greatest pilot in the world.
He rose and walked away, leaving the children staring at him with awe.
When he reached the yard of his childhood home, his steps slowed. The house looked smaller than he remembered, yet heavier somehow, as though it carried years he had abandoned. The paint was slightly faded. The old oak tree still stood guard at the edge of the property.
He drew in a steady breath, suppressing the swell of emotion in his chest, and knocked on the door.
Is that Hal?
His mother's voice floated from the kitchen. Moments later, the door opened. She stared at the young man before her, confusion flickering across her face.
Sorry, I thought it was my son Hal.
It is okay.
His eyes reddened, but he forced himself to smile.
I am Hal's friend.
The warmth in her expression returned instantly. If you are Hal's friend, then you are welcome here.
She ushered him inside.
The house wrapped around him like a memory refusing to fade. The old juicer that once churned out endless glasses of grape juice still sat on the counter. The tape recorder he had saved for months to buy, so he could listen to Bob Dylan late at night, rested on a dusty shelf. The round wooden table still bore the knife marks he had carved in a fit of teenage anger.
Everything was exactly where it should be.
For a moment, he was eighteen again, reckless and convinced the world existed solely to test his ambition.
His greatest regret had been walking out that door years ago. He had not even been there to hold his mother's hand when illness claimed her in the timeline he remembered.
This is the apple pie I made. If you do not mind, you can try it.
She placed a slice before him, the steam rising in gentle spirals.
Thank you.
He took a bite. The taste was the same. Sweet apples, cinnamon, the buttery crust that always flaked just right.
The familiarity shattered him.
Tears welled up despite his effort to contain them. They slipped down his face before he could stop them.
Sorry.
He wiped his eyes quickly, embarrassed by the loss of control.
I just remembered my mother. She loved making apple pie too.
Oh.
She nodded, unsure what to say.
I did not understand her back then. I thought my dreams were everything. I believed she should support them without question. We argued all the time.
He kept eating, his voice steadying as he forced the words out.
I was tired of this house. I wanted to escape. So one night, I ran. I chased my ideals and convinced myself I had achieved something. Then I got a call. She was seriously ill.
He swallowed hard.
Everything I thought mattered disappeared. The only thing I wanted was to go home. But I was too late.
His voice broke.
I wanted to tell her I loved her. I wanted to say I missed her apple pie, the way she used to stroke my hair, all of it. If time could rewind, I would never have left. I would have stayed. I would have chosen her.
His mother's eyes glistened.
Your mother never resented you. I am sure she was proud of the man you became.
Thank you.
He stood abruptly, needing distance before emotion overwhelmed him again.
I am sorry, I remembered something urgent. I have to go.
He stepped outside without waiting for a reply.
A few seconds later, his mother's brow furrowed. The flight jacket, it felt familiar. It looked like her husband's. And the badge pinned to it was almost identical to the one she had once given her son.
Realization dawned too late.
She rushed outside, scanning the street.
He was gone.
When she returned to the house, her gaze fell on the carnations resting on the table. She picked them up gently, her fingers trembling.
Mother?
Elsewhere, in the woods not far from Kent Farm, Supergirl Kara stood with Clark beneath the wide Kansas sky. The fields rolled endlessly beyond them, golden and quiet.
Clark's mood had improved drastically since learning that Jonathan had returned from death, even if he remained unconscious in the hospital. Hope had a way of reshaping grief.
Are you leaving?
Clark asked quietly.
In this world, there is always meeting and parting. Do not look so troubled, cousin.
Kara gave him a light pat on the shoulder and pointed toward the farmhouse.
But before I go, I have something to settle.
Clark followed her gaze and saw a blonde girl approaching the farm. She knocked on the door.
Inside, Adrian stood holding Rachel when the knock came. He opened it to find a girl who looked almost identical to the Kara beside Clark.
Clark stiffened.
That is…
Yes, that is me in this timeline.
Kara smiled faintly.
If I am going to leave, I will not waste the trip. I told her a few things about you.
You found her?
Of course. I know where I live at this point in time. Finding myself was not difficult.
Clark exhaled slowly.
Did she believe you?
Not at first. But after I knocked her down a few times, she reconsidered.
Kara flexed her fist with satisfaction.
Clark could not help but cough awkwardly.
Why bring her here?
To introduce her properly to her cousins.
Her expression grew more serious.
Years ago, a girl named Kara Zor El was sent to Earth by her mother during Krypton's destruction. Her mission was to protect her baby cousin. But her pod was diverted into the Phantom Zone, a place where time stands still. She was trapped there for twenty four years.
She smiled at Clark.
So even if she looks thirteen now, she is technically older than you.
Clark struggled to respond.
You were in the Phantom Zone for twenty four years. The same place those Kryptonians mentioned?
He felt a pang of sympathy.
Yes, I know that look. Do not pity me. I do not need it.
She stepped closer and rested a hand on his shoulder.
Stay true to your path, Clark. You will become the greatest Superman in the universe.
Her eyes softened briefly.
And take care of Adrian and Rachel. No matter what happens, they are family.
With that, she turned, ignited her power, and shot into the sky. A thunderous crack echoed as she vanished beyond sight.
Clark remained still for several minutes before heading back to the farmhouse.
Inside, a blonde girl who appeared thirteen or fourteen sat on the sofa speaking animatedly with Adrian.
When Clark entered, she stood immediately.
Are you Kal El? I am Kara Zor El.
Despite her youthful appearance, her composure carried an unexpected maturity.
I am. You can call me Clark.
He glanced at Adrian.
Adrian held Rachel with one arm, his expression unreadable. His posture was relaxed, but there was something in his gaze that suggested he was evaluating everything in the room, including the girl.
Normally, I would call you Kal.
This version of Kara seemed livelier, less tempered by time.
I have been searching for you since I arrived on Earth.
Clark hesitated.
How old are you?
I am twenty four, your older cousin. But by Earth years, I am thirteen. When you land on a strange planet, you learn to hide, even your age.
She continued speaking rapidly, excitement spilling over.
My adoptive mother, Eliza, suspects I am not normal. She wants me to live quietly. But I know normal will never be my life.
Then her attention shifted sharply to Adrian.
That woman said you are my cousin too. Are you Kryptonian?
I am not.
Adrian removed his finger from Rachel's mouth with casual indifference and set the baby gently in her stroller before standing.
But I can sense something from you.
Her eyes narrowed.
Clark stepped in, slightly uneasy.
Adrian arrived in a spaceship too.
He did not know that Adrian had deliberately ensured Clark would be found outside while he remained inside.
Impossible.
Kara's shock was genuine.
Two infants in one ship? There was only one Kal El.
Her mind struggled to reconcile the contradiction.
Then she straightened.
The stronger one must be Kal.
Clark sighed and picked up the iron baseball bat Martha kept behind the door for protection. He squeezed it effortlessly, twisting it into a warped S shape.
Actually, Adrian is stronger than I am. He once killed someone who escaped the Phantom Zone.
He extended the mangled bat toward Adrian.
Straighten it.
Adrian did not take it. His eyes were cool, almost bored.
Do I look like I perform tricks on command?
The air in the room shifted.
Kara's expression hardened. In the next instant, she vanished from her spot and reappeared beside Adrian, her fist already driving forward in a sudden, decisive strike.