"~rother."
"…little brother."
"Wake up, my little brother."
I jolted awake to find Selina's green eyes inches from mine. She was teasing my nose with a stray strand of wheat, her grin playful and sharp.
"Ohh, my little brother finally opens his eyes! Silly boy, needing his older sister to wake him up personally. What a nuisance," she sing-songed, flicking the wheat across my nose again.
She was wearing one of my old shirts and pants from when I was younger—still loose on her, but far better than the torn clothes she had worn in Gotham. Her hair was brushed, her skin scrubbed; she looked way better than last night.
"You know that sort of thing won't work on me," I said, eyeing the wheat strand with a roll of my eyes. "But I'm glad you're in such good spirits. I thought you would have trouble sleeping in a new place."
"Hmph, no fun if you won't even react to the 'little brother' bit." She flicked the strand away with a mock glare, then softened. "And I… I haven't slept in a proper bed for a long time. Last night was the first real sleep I've had in forever."
"I'm glad," I said with a small smile. "Besides, cats are supposed to sleep sixteen hours a day. Now you can finally take your cat naps properly."
"Just because I told you I took care of a bunch of cats in Gotham doesn't make me one," she shot back, lightly punching my arm, but her pout was more playful than angry.
Then, without warning, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around me, pressing her face into my chest. "…Thank you. For everything," she whispered, her voice muffled against me.
"You're family now," I murmured, patting her small back. "You don't ever have to thank me again."
She gave a small nod, then straightened quickly, brushing at her eyes. "Yeah, you're right. So get up, lazy little brother." With that she turned and hurried from the room.
I still saw the shine of tears in her eyes as she left.
"Well, now Ma's gonna think I bullied her," I muttered with a wry smile.
I knew why Selina had been calling me "little brother" all morning. It all went back to what Ma said last night.
After I had brought Selina inside, Ma and Pa sat us both down and listened while I explained who she was. We had already rehearsed our story: her parents had died, she had run from an orphanage, hopped a truck out of Gotham, and ended up stranded here in Smallville. She had been living in alleys for days without food or money until I found her on my way back from Lana's place. After hearing her story, I had decided to bring her home.
Ma and Pa had both been proud of me, telling me I had done the right thing. Then Ma wrinkled her nose and declared Selina smelled worse than the horse barn. (I had to agree.) Without missing a beat, she took Selina to wash up.
Meanwhile Pa asked me a string of questions—about what exactly had happened, which I answered expertly having already thought of everything that they could ask.
After a full hour of scrubbing and shampooing, Ma came back with a clean, sleepy-looking Selina wrapped in one of my old shirts and pants. Ma had also fixed her a big bowl of soup "to put some strength back in those bones," and handed me one too before sitting down with Pa to talk.
I could hear them from the kitchen—Ma and Pa going back and forth about what to do next. Neither wanted to send Selina back to an orphanage, and certainly not to Gotham. Pa was still worried about the cost of another child, especially schooling. But Ma's voice had a way of softening every objection.
"I always thought how good it would be for Clark to have a sibling," Ma said, her voice warm but firm. "Now he's got himself a big sister. And I'd love to have a daughter in the house, too."
That was the moment Selina must have picked up her new "big sister" joke.
Anyway, Pa and Ma finally agreed they would find a way to make it work, and decided to welcome Selina into the family as one of our own.
I still perfectly remember how shocked Selina looked when Ma hugged her and said she wanted her to stay here with us—like she couldn't quite believe strangers would open their home to her so easily.
We didn't exactly have much space in the house, and Pa already takes up half the bed in another room, so in the end Selina ended up sleeping with Ma and me last night.
I had trouble falling asleep myself. My mind kept drifting back to Gotham—replaying the fights, reviewing everything I had done and how I could have done it better.
And then there was the bigger worry: our house was already running on thin margins. Another mouth to feed meant things were going to get tighter. Maybe it's time to finally put my "reincarnator brain" to work and find a way to bring in some money.
I don't even remember when I fell asleep. All I know is that I woke up quite late right now—way later than usual, which almost never happens.
"Looks like there's no point in going to school today," I muttered, glancing at the clock. I got up and walked out of the bedroom, following the smell of Ma's pancakes. She must be in an especially good mood this morning.
Selina was perched on the sofa, flipping channels on the TV remote, acting like she belonged but keeping her eyes down. I sat beside her, but she didn't look at me—probably still shy after the hug just now.
Through my X-ray vision I spotted Pa sitting outside in the sun, newspaper in hand. These days I finish most of the farmwork myself—part training, part habit—which leaves him with less to do. He told me to stop more than once, but it's just too easy now. He has finally accepted it, and mostly spends his days visiting friends nearby instead.
"Hey… isn't that the man from the family of three you saved last night?" Selina whispered, nudging me.
My eyes were already fixed on the television the moment I caught the words.
"Last night, Thomas Wayne—a wealthy philanthropist from the Wayne family, a renowned doctor at Gotham General Hospital, and a candidate for Gotham's mayor—was murdered," the news anchor said in a somber tone. Behind him, the screen showed campaign posters reading Thomas Wayne for Mayor.
"What?" I muttered, stunned.
"No… but you saved him. You saved them—" Selina clapped a hand over her mouth, just as shocked.
"The Wayne family had been attending a charity screening at the Monarch Theatre when an attempted mugging was foiled by an unidentified individual. But their troubles weren't over. Only an hour later, while hurrying back home, their car was caught in the middle of a gang-war shootout," the anchor continued, as footage of burning storefronts and chaotic streets rolled in the background.
"A gang war…" I murmured, eyes widening as I remembered something I had overheard on the rooftop last night.
"Police are still trying to determine which gangs were involved," the anchor said. "Witnesses report that one gang member attempted to open the Waynes' car door, and when he couldn't, he fired into the window, killing Thomas Wayne instantly. His wife, Martha Wayne, and their young son, Bruce, survived until the shooting ended and police arrived."
I pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to steady myself. "H-how could this happen?"
"Oh thank God… at least the mother and the little boy survived," Selina whispered, a hand pressed to her heart.
"The suspect is still at large, and police say they're doing everything in their power to apprehend him. This tragedy once again highlights the growing influence and threat of Gotham's gangs. The mayor has announced a citywide curfew for the coming days; all residents are urged to stay indoors after midnight. The Wayne family has announced the funeral will be held three days from now, on June 30th. Not just Gotham, but the entire nation is mourning the loss of a great man like Thomas Wayne," the anchor intoned.
"Are you alright?" Selina asked softly, placing her hand over mine. Her eyes searched my face, worried.
I didn't know what expression I was wearing, but I knew it wasn't good. I drew a deep breath, forcing my hands to unclench as my eyes locked on a photo of the smashed car window on the screen.
"I'm fine… Selina. I'm just angry at this… this plot correction of DC—and at myself," I muttered under my breath.
"It wasn't your fault," Selina said, hugging me tightly. "You saved them once already. It was that gang member's fault, not yours."
I heard her, but my eyes stayed fixed on the funeral date.
-----
Three days later…
"Selina, was right—the gang member was the one who pulled the trigger," I whispered to myself. "But I knew that the gang war was about to happen. I knew, and just to protect my identity, just because I didn't want to spend more time away from the theatre… I let them go. And Thomas Wayne died because of it." A wisp of breath escaped my lips into the cool morning air.
Three days had passed. Today I had skipped school to come to Wayne Manor for the funeral. The grounds were filled with mourners in black, a dense sea of hats, veils, and somber faces.
It wasn't hard to slip past the perimeter—Wayne security wasn't built to handle someone like me—but I stayed far back anyway. I wore my single black shirt and pants, the same worn red scarf tucked into my collar, and stood under the shade of a tree on the edge of the estate, out of sight, watching.
Famous faces streamed past the casket—politicians, CEOs, and old money from across the country. I even caught a glimpse of the Luthors. Everyone in Smallville knew LuthorCorp; they practically owned half the town. Using my hearing and vision, I quietly matched faces to names, filing away everything I could about the elite of this country.
Two young cops caught my attention—one with a mustache named James Gordon, another a pot-bellied officer named Harvey Bullock. Looked like fresh recruits now, but I knew what Gotham would make of them. I could only hope their future wouldn't be as grim as the stories I remembered.
Despite the swirl of mourners, my eyes kept drifting back to the mother and son at the front. Martha Wayne stood perfectly still, polite and gracious to each person who offered condolences. Bruce, though, was pale and hollow-eyed, a boy turned to stone.
My stomach tightened. I had saved their lives, but it wasn't enough. If I had stayed longer in Gotham, if I had intervened again—taken down the gangs before, or made sure the family reached home safely—Thomas Wayne might still be alive. They could have stayed been a whole family. Instead, they were broken now, forever.
But guilt couldn't change the past. It wouldn't bring back Bruce's father. All I could do was learn, plan better, and make smarter decisions next time.
"If this world really has some kind of plot correction," I muttered under my breath, clenching my fist, "then I'll fight it with everything I've got."
"Young master."
The voice behind me was calm, clipped, unmistakably British. I turned to see a middle aged man, immaculate black suit, white gloves, posture straight as a blade.
"Alfred Pennyworth, at your service. Madam Martha requests the honour of your company for luncheon within the manor." He said bowing slightly.
He was the perfect portrait of a butler. Alfred Pennyworth—the Alfred—future confidant of Batman himself.
Nothing about him surprised me. With my hearing and x-ray vision, I had followed every step of his approach from the moment he left the manor. I had even caught the moment he leaned toward Martha and whispered that I was here. He had tried to circle in from the blind side, moving with the kind of stealth that would fool anyone else. But nothing escaped me. I had stayed put on purpose, waiting for him to arrive.
"Very well," I said, inclining my head, keeping my tone polite but steady. "Lead on, Mr. Pennyworth."
Alfred gave the faintest of nods, eyes flicking over me as if taking my measure. "As you wish, sir," he replied, then turned with military precision and began to walk back toward the manor.
I followed, thankful that one of my goals for arriving here was achieved so easily.
***
Reincarnated as Superman will also start following the same 1, 3 and 5 chapter release rules for different tiers in Patreon!