FIC: "The Astounding Adventures of the Brothers El on Sol-3!" (SV, 1/1, Reunion universe)
PG-13 for violence. Spoilers for “Relic”, “Rosetta”; this story takes place before “The Kindness of Strangers” and is intended as part of the Reunion’verse, but is understandable as a standalone as long as you know that Jor-El had a brother named Zor-El (who is Supergirl’s dad, years later, FYI). Please forgive any pop culture anachronisms: this is supposed to take place in mid-to-late 1960, as in my Reunion’verse, Jor-El was on Earth for a Kryptonian year, which is a little longer than an Earth year, and went to Smallville only in the last few weeks of his sojourn on Earth. Despite earlier protestations, it turns out that I am writing that fic - thanks to tobywolf13 ’s comment.
Summary: “The first thing Jor-El and Zor-El had purchased was a used 1958 Chevrolet Impala. Convertible. Black.”
The Astounding Adventures of the Brothers El on Sol-3!
The first thing they had purchased, after the necessities of culturally-accurate clothing and a distasteful substance known as Brylcreem, was a used 1958 Chevrolet Impala.
Convertible.
Black.
Jor-El had read of this vehicle in a magazine: an impala was a four-legged, hooved herbivore of the African continent, known for its grace and speed. It seemed fitting that one would name a vehicle after such an animal. He approved of the imagination that the vehicle’s makers had employed in that regard.
“I think the human mislead us, Jor,” his younger brother was insisting from his neighboring seat. Jor-El was in the pilot’s seat - driver’s seat, he reminded himself; the inhabitants of Sol-3 had not yet perfected flying vehicles for personal use - where he had been sitting since they began the journey. Zor-El’s papers, unfortunately, precluded him from captaining the vehicle, due to certain local regulations. The translation of his age into Earth years had left him three months too young, and Jor-El had heard no end of complaining on this fact.
Jor-El sighed. “Why do you say that, Zor?” he asked, finally giving in.
“It makes strange noises. I’m no engineer, but surely those sounds coming from the engine are worrying!”
Jor-El listened for a moment and shook his head. “Zor, it’s fine. It’s supposed to sound like that.” The human who had sold it to them had called it a ‘purr’, another Sol-3 show of imagination that he liked. It also ‘growled’, which at first blush had been a little frightening (they were still working on their English), but he had become quickly accustomed to it.
He liked it.
“It consumes substantial amounts of fuel - so inefficient. It’s slow. Blah blah blah,” said Zor-El. In truth, Jor-El had simply started ignoring him. They had not been on the planet for long - not even quite a month, as reckoned by the native inhabitants - and Zor-El was getting on his nerves. ‘Your brother will accompany you,’ their father had said. ‘An additional learning experience, Jor-El. I think you have great need of such.’
Great need of being annoyed, sure.
Most of the time Zor-El didn’t bother him. Zor was younger by three Kryptonian years (approximately four by Sol-3’s reckoning), and so he made certain allowances, but it had been some time since they’d had to endure each other’s presence without buffers in the form of their parents, friends or peers. And to make matters worse, Zor didn’t seem to like Sol-3 - ‘Earth’, in the local language - very much.
Jor-El adored it.
There were negatives, of course: Zor-El was right that these Earth vehicles were inefficient, and noisy by comparison to what they knew from Krypton, and the fuel they required had a strange odor. Human food occasionally left much to be desired: the first taste of refined sugar had twisted his stomach, and the fats and oils in other dishes…until their latent powers had awoken after about a day’s exposure to Sol-3’s strange yellow sunlight, and then their metabolisms had them craving those poisons. After a few days acclimation to it all, he’d found that hamburgers and French fries and milkshakes weren’t so bad. Zor, however, had been more stubborn in resisting the siren call of these substances and had consistently ordered more ‘healthful’ food at every diner and restaurant. The lack of nutritional energy was making him cranky, to Jor-El’s eternal delight.
And on several occasions, waitresses had asked if there was something wrong with his brother. Apparently it wasn’t the usual thing on Sol-3 for fifteen-year-old boys to order salads, or vegetable soups, or oatmeal for breakfast.
But Jor-El liked what he saw. And heard - he reached for the radio controls. Perhaps a song from Elvis Presley, or Bobby Darin would be playing…
But before he could identify the tune, Zor-El reached over and turned it off.
“Hey!”
Zor-El was pouting. “I detest this noise.”
“I have overheard,” Jor-El replied, “an Earth custom that the driver chooses the music, or if there is to be music at all. I am the driver, therefore I wish to have music.” He reached back in the direction of the radio.
“But that’s hardly fair, Jor! I am legally obligated to refuse being the driver, even though we both know I’m capable of it,” Zor-El protested. “If there is such a custom, it hardly applies to us. And if it did, then surely you’d - look out!”
Jor-El returned his attention to the road in time to avoid hitting a young human woman standing just inside his lane. She was waving her arms, as if to get their attention. Certain that he had not hit her, he pulled to a stop a short distance down the road.
“What reason could she have to be standing in the middle of the road like that?” Zor-El asked, as if amazed that a human had dared to interrupt his ranting.
“There are a number of abilities we have developed here on Sol-3, Zor, but clairvoyance and mind-reading are not among them,” Jor-El replied in annoyance. He paused a moment, shaking the heat from his eyes. He put the Impala into ‘reverse’ and slowly - carefully - crept backwards to meet the woman. “Open the window,” he told Zor-El.
Zor frowned. “Why should I open my window to this perfect stranger? Her motives may be malicious!”
“Oh, do please shut up, Zor! It’s just a young woman - most likely her vehicle simply broke down or ran out of fuel and all she wishes is to be transported to the next town. Where’s your sense of hospitality and friendliness?”
“Back home on Krypton, I imagine,” Zor-El muttered but he finally did as asked and rolled down the window.
The young woman seemed to be in distress, Jor-El realized as she came up to Zor-El’s window, that was more than what a flat tire or lack of gasoline warranted. She had been crying, and her clothing seemed torn and dirty. Had she been accosted against her will?
That was one of the items on his lists of Sol-3 negatives.
“Miss,” Jor-El said in his best English, “are you all right?”
Zor-El continued to pout.
The young woman seemed elated to see them. “Oh, thank you, thank you,” she exclaimed. “Please let me in. We have to get out of here. It’s going to come back-”
“What’s going to come back?” Jor-El asked.
The young woman looked nervous. “The monster,” she whispered as a reply.
They had learned that word at a drive-in movie theatre the previous week, but Jor-El thought it was meant to be understood that ‘monsters’ were imaginary creatures. Perhaps the woman had been attacked by a wild animal? He shrugged and then told Zor-El, “Get in the back.”
Zor-El broke out of his pout. “What?” he said in surprise. “Why do I have to go into the back?”
“Because you do! Just do it, Zor!” Jor-El told him. If the young woman noticed that they were speaking an alien tongue, she didn’t show it. “Climb in,” he told her as Zor-El moved to the back seat.
She did so quickly and slammed the door shut. “Go, go, go!”
Jor-El shifted back into ‘drive’ and got going. After a moment, he asked her again, “Are you all right?”
“I am now,” she replied. “Thanks to you. I thought I was going to die out there.” She wiped her hands on her skirt and he noticed she wasn’t wearing the customary jewelry of a married or betrothed woman. “I’m Joe,” he told her (his faked driver’s license said ‘Joseph Elliot’), “and my brother is Ezra - ”
“Zeke,” came Zor-El’s voice from the back seat.
“- Ezra-Ezekiel,” he corrected. There was no human name that conveniently sounded similar to ‘Zor’, at least not on this continent, so they had been reduced to finding names that had the ‘z’ sound near the beginning. Zor-El’s papers said ‘Ezra’, which had had the bonus of both ‘z’ and ‘r’, but for some reason Zor-El hadn’t cared for it and kept asking to be called ‘Zeke’. Jor-El had no idea where he’d even heard the name in the first place, but he generally went along with it, placated only by the fact that the full form of it - ‘Ezekiel’ - ended in something that sounded like their House name. Hopefully they’d remember to stick to ‘Ezra’ if they ever encountered police officers. He imagined that there were stiff punishments for faking one’s identity here - and using their solar-born abilities to escape would likely be unwise. “What’s your name?” he asked the woman.
She was still catching her breath, but seemed a bit calmer, to his relief. “Marie,” she told him.
“All right, Marie,” Jor-El said, carefully keeping his eyes on the road this time. “Can you tell us what happened? You said there was a ‘monster’?” He still doubted it; he had read that there were still animals known as bears in these woods, and occasionally wolves were also spotted, and it seemed more likely that she had seen one of these animals unexpectedly.
“Yeah,” Marie replied, pulling her cardigan tighter across her chest as if chilled. “My - my boyfriend and I were, um, just parked down that side road, you know? And he heard something. I told him not to go outside - I mean, you’d think he’d learn something from all the movies we’ve seen, right? But he went anyway, and the next thing I knew-”
Jor-El didn’t need an explanation. The look on her face was enough: whatever it had been, it had attacked her companion.
In the back seat, too softly for human ears, and in Kryptonian, Zor-El muttered, “Idiot.”
Jor-El glanced off the road to give Zor-El a pointed look through the rear-view mirror, but soon Marie screamed and he saw the creature in front of them in the road, a great hulking thing, like a man and a beast all at once.
He swerved again, narrowly missing it as he had Marie minutes earlier. What in the name of Mother Krypton… In the mirror he saw the beast come charging at the car.
At an inhuman speed.
“What is it?” he asked, pressing on the accelerator and quickly dismayed to discover that the beast was matching his speed.
“You’ll never believe me, Joe,” Marie said, her eyes full with tears.
“Just tell me!” Jor-El demanded. “This beast is catching up with us!”
“A werewolf.”
Jor-El blinked. Werewolf. Didn’t we see a movie a few days ago… “How does one defeat such a creature?”
To his surprise, the answer came from the backseat. “With a silver object,” Zor-El piped up, helpful for once. “Have we anything made of silver?”
Silver was element number forty-seven, generally seen as a shiny grey metal. Jewelry was a common usage, but neither he nor Zor-El were so adorned. And while the Impala had a number of shiny metal accents, he believed they were in fact chrome. That left - “Marie, have you anything of silver?”
“My necklace,” she said, as if suddenly realizing it. “I - I think it’s silver.” A moment later, she had unclasped it and dropped it into his outstretched hand.
The vague idea of a plan in mind, he announced, “Hold on,” and spun the car around and hit the brake.
Not quite Steve McQueen, but it’ll do, he decided. He climbed out of the car, the silver chain in hand. “Stay here,” he ordered. Zor-El began to protest, but he quickly gave him an additional order, in Kryptonian: “Keep Marie safe.”
His brother huffed a little but sat down again. Jor-El squared his shoulders and prepared to battle the beast.
The creature had stopped a few yards away, as if puzzled by the fact that they had stopped. But now, likely seeing him as easy prey, it charged, running on its strange hind legs. Jor-El met it halfway.
The beast was heavy and strong, but Jor-El was more powerful under the influence of Sol-3’s yellow star and he wrestled it to the ground, one hand pushing on its windpipe. They rolled a little, picking up the dust and grime of the road, but Jor-El ignored that, concentrating on the beast. He did not wish to hurt it, let alone kill it - but what would prevent its horrid actions from recurring? If the legends from the movies were true, a man was trapped inside this unfortunate creature and had no control over its actions. With his other hand, he draped the silver necklace over the creature’s throat - and at once it began to smoke and the creature howled.
I guess its silver indeed. The acrid smell filled his nostrils and he gagged on it a little, but continued to hold the beast fast. “I am sorry for your misfortune, friend,” he said softly in Kryptonian. I hope I am doing the right thing.” He hesitated as he pulled the chain tight around the creature’s throat and then pulled even tighter still, strangling it. “I shall remember you during the rites of bri-kuram,” he promised.
The creature went limp - and then disappeared.
Jor-El fell forward and found himself still clutching the silver chain but the werewolf was gone. There was no sign it had even been there - no remnants of its body, save his own position in the middle of the road, and the way he held the silver necklace in his hands.
Puzzled, he stood up. In the movie, did the werewolf not revert to its human form when it died? he wondered, but he had little time to contemplate it: a moment later, Marie was rushing towards him.
“It has disappeared,” he informed her, but it didn’t seem to give her any pause because she continued on her direct path towards him. “You were so brave! So strong!” she gushed, and he frowned, because there was something in her tone of voice that he found distasteful. Before he could identify it, she reached him and took advantage of his confusion, throwing her arms around him. “My hero,” she whispered and then kissed him.
From the car, Zor-El’s voice traveled as he complained: “Of course you get the girl…”
His mind clouded with confusion, Jor-El pushed Marie away, but -
She was no longer Marie. It was the blonde girl he’d seen all those many months before, at the transit station in Kryptonopolis, the girl with the jewel-blue eyes he’d fallen for on sight. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Why aren’t you on Krypton - ”
“Joe?”
Jor-El blinked and suddenly he was no longer on some night-darkened road, holding Marie or the mysterious Kryptonian girl. No - he was still on Earth, in the North American region called New York, but he was in his landlady’s living room, the television on and most of the lights off. The landlady’s son was staring at him.
And he was floating several feet above the couch.
The Kryptonian language did not seem to have a word strong enough for this situation, and he would not corrupt the boy - all of seven Earth years - with an English term behind Mrs. Swann’s back, so he bit his tongue and gathered every calming thought in reach until he had lowered himself back onto the couch.
He had fallen asleep while watching a Saturday evening horror movie. He had dreamed himself into the story, and his brother, too. But he was alone on Earth these last few months: Zor-El was still at home on Krypton.
“Mr. Joe?” the boy ventured.
Jor-El sighed. Perhaps any other child could be swayed to eventually ignore what had just happened, but not this boy: he was an intelligent - outrageously intelligent - child, one with an interest in the stars already, and an aptitude for science. On Krypton, he would be groomed for great things in astronomy, astrophysics, anything related to space travel - but on Earth he was merely the precocious child of a poor widow who rented out her extra rooms for money.
Little “Swannie” - as he had heard the other children call the boy, as the child’s given name was unfashionable - deserved better.
“Are you an alien, Mr. Joe?” Swannie asked with a childish lack of tact.
One small boy, who already knows discretion, Jor-El mused. His classmates have no idea the power of his mind. He keeps his thoughts quite secret already. The decision made, Jor-El sighed a little and gave his answer: “Yes, Swannie, I am an alien.”
Swannie’s blue eyes went wide in surprise, his eyebrows nearly reaching his dark hair, but there was no fear in his expression - only surprise and delight. “I knew it! I knew it! And your name isn’t really Joseph Elliot, is it, Mr. Joe?”
Jor-El smiled. “No. My real name is Jor-El.”
“And that sounds like Joe Elliot,” the boy quickly deduced before his expression turned a little serious. “If I promised not to tell anyone - I know this is a secret, Mr. Joe - will you show me which star you come from?” Swannie asked.
As I thought, Jor-El reminded himself, though he hesitated a little before agreeing. “Yes, I will tell you. Go get your astronomy atlas and I will show it to you.” The boy had shared his enthusiasm for the topic, and that specific book, on a number of occasions since Jor-El had taken the room.
Swannie grinned and ran off with childish exhuberance. Jor-El sighed again, leaning against the back of the couch. I hope I am doing the right thing by telling him the truth.
Looking towards the boy’s room, listening to the rustle of shifting papers and other ephemera as the boy retrieved his book, Jor-El shook his head. You will do great things in your life. I can only hope I have half your ambition and talent, Virgil Swann.
[END]
Summary: “The first thing Jor-El and Zor-El had purchased was a used 1958 Chevrolet Impala. Convertible. Black.”
The Astounding Adventures of the Brothers El on Sol-3!
The first thing they had purchased, after the necessities of culturally-accurate clothing and a distasteful substance known as Brylcreem, was a used 1958 Chevrolet Impala.
Convertible.
Black.
Jor-El had read of this vehicle in a magazine: an impala was a four-legged, hooved herbivore of the African continent, known for its grace and speed. It seemed fitting that one would name a vehicle after such an animal. He approved of the imagination that the vehicle’s makers had employed in that regard.
“I think the human mislead us, Jor,” his younger brother was insisting from his neighboring seat. Jor-El was in the pilot’s seat - driver’s seat, he reminded himself; the inhabitants of Sol-3 had not yet perfected flying vehicles for personal use - where he had been sitting since they began the journey. Zor-El’s papers, unfortunately, precluded him from captaining the vehicle, due to certain local regulations. The translation of his age into Earth years had left him three months too young, and Jor-El had heard no end of complaining on this fact.
Jor-El sighed. “Why do you say that, Zor?” he asked, finally giving in.
“It makes strange noises. I’m no engineer, but surely those sounds coming from the engine are worrying!”
Jor-El listened for a moment and shook his head. “Zor, it’s fine. It’s supposed to sound like that.” The human who had sold it to them had called it a ‘purr’, another Sol-3 show of imagination that he liked. It also ‘growled’, which at first blush had been a little frightening (they were still working on their English), but he had become quickly accustomed to it.
He liked it.
“It consumes substantial amounts of fuel - so inefficient. It’s slow. Blah blah blah,” said Zor-El. In truth, Jor-El had simply started ignoring him. They had not been on the planet for long - not even quite a month, as reckoned by the native inhabitants - and Zor-El was getting on his nerves. ‘Your brother will accompany you,’ their father had said. ‘An additional learning experience, Jor-El. I think you have great need of such.’
Great need of being annoyed, sure.
Most of the time Zor-El didn’t bother him. Zor was younger by three Kryptonian years (approximately four by Sol-3’s reckoning), and so he made certain allowances, but it had been some time since they’d had to endure each other’s presence without buffers in the form of their parents, friends or peers. And to make matters worse, Zor didn’t seem to like Sol-3 - ‘Earth’, in the local language - very much.
Jor-El adored it.
There were negatives, of course: Zor-El was right that these Earth vehicles were inefficient, and noisy by comparison to what they knew from Krypton, and the fuel they required had a strange odor. Human food occasionally left much to be desired: the first taste of refined sugar had twisted his stomach, and the fats and oils in other dishes…until their latent powers had awoken after about a day’s exposure to Sol-3’s strange yellow sunlight, and then their metabolisms had them craving those poisons. After a few days acclimation to it all, he’d found that hamburgers and French fries and milkshakes weren’t so bad. Zor, however, had been more stubborn in resisting the siren call of these substances and had consistently ordered more ‘healthful’ food at every diner and restaurant. The lack of nutritional energy was making him cranky, to Jor-El’s eternal delight.
And on several occasions, waitresses had asked if there was something wrong with his brother. Apparently it wasn’t the usual thing on Sol-3 for fifteen-year-old boys to order salads, or vegetable soups, or oatmeal for breakfast.
But Jor-El liked what he saw. And heard - he reached for the radio controls. Perhaps a song from Elvis Presley, or Bobby Darin would be playing…
But before he could identify the tune, Zor-El reached over and turned it off.
“Hey!”
Zor-El was pouting. “I detest this noise.”
“I have overheard,” Jor-El replied, “an Earth custom that the driver chooses the music, or if there is to be music at all. I am the driver, therefore I wish to have music.” He reached back in the direction of the radio.
“But that’s hardly fair, Jor! I am legally obligated to refuse being the driver, even though we both know I’m capable of it,” Zor-El protested. “If there is such a custom, it hardly applies to us. And if it did, then surely you’d - look out!”
Jor-El returned his attention to the road in time to avoid hitting a young human woman standing just inside his lane. She was waving her arms, as if to get their attention. Certain that he had not hit her, he pulled to a stop a short distance down the road.
“What reason could she have to be standing in the middle of the road like that?” Zor-El asked, as if amazed that a human had dared to interrupt his ranting.
“There are a number of abilities we have developed here on Sol-3, Zor, but clairvoyance and mind-reading are not among them,” Jor-El replied in annoyance. He paused a moment, shaking the heat from his eyes. He put the Impala into ‘reverse’ and slowly - carefully - crept backwards to meet the woman. “Open the window,” he told Zor-El.
Zor frowned. “Why should I open my window to this perfect stranger? Her motives may be malicious!”
“Oh, do please shut up, Zor! It’s just a young woman - most likely her vehicle simply broke down or ran out of fuel and all she wishes is to be transported to the next town. Where’s your sense of hospitality and friendliness?”
“Back home on Krypton, I imagine,” Zor-El muttered but he finally did as asked and rolled down the window.
The young woman seemed to be in distress, Jor-El realized as she came up to Zor-El’s window, that was more than what a flat tire or lack of gasoline warranted. She had been crying, and her clothing seemed torn and dirty. Had she been accosted against her will?
That was one of the items on his lists of Sol-3 negatives.
“Miss,” Jor-El said in his best English, “are you all right?”
Zor-El continued to pout.
The young woman seemed elated to see them. “Oh, thank you, thank you,” she exclaimed. “Please let me in. We have to get out of here. It’s going to come back-”
“What’s going to come back?” Jor-El asked.
The young woman looked nervous. “The monster,” she whispered as a reply.
They had learned that word at a drive-in movie theatre the previous week, but Jor-El thought it was meant to be understood that ‘monsters’ were imaginary creatures. Perhaps the woman had been attacked by a wild animal? He shrugged and then told Zor-El, “Get in the back.”
Zor-El broke out of his pout. “What?” he said in surprise. “Why do I have to go into the back?”
“Because you do! Just do it, Zor!” Jor-El told him. If the young woman noticed that they were speaking an alien tongue, she didn’t show it. “Climb in,” he told her as Zor-El moved to the back seat.
She did so quickly and slammed the door shut. “Go, go, go!”
Jor-El shifted back into ‘drive’ and got going. After a moment, he asked her again, “Are you all right?”
“I am now,” she replied. “Thanks to you. I thought I was going to die out there.” She wiped her hands on her skirt and he noticed she wasn’t wearing the customary jewelry of a married or betrothed woman. “I’m Joe,” he told her (his faked driver’s license said ‘Joseph Elliot’), “and my brother is Ezra - ”
“Zeke,” came Zor-El’s voice from the back seat.
“- Ezra-Ezekiel,” he corrected. There was no human name that conveniently sounded similar to ‘Zor’, at least not on this continent, so they had been reduced to finding names that had the ‘z’ sound near the beginning. Zor-El’s papers said ‘Ezra’, which had had the bonus of both ‘z’ and ‘r’, but for some reason Zor-El hadn’t cared for it and kept asking to be called ‘Zeke’. Jor-El had no idea where he’d even heard the name in the first place, but he generally went along with it, placated only by the fact that the full form of it - ‘Ezekiel’ - ended in something that sounded like their House name. Hopefully they’d remember to stick to ‘Ezra’ if they ever encountered police officers. He imagined that there were stiff punishments for faking one’s identity here - and using their solar-born abilities to escape would likely be unwise. “What’s your name?” he asked the woman.
She was still catching her breath, but seemed a bit calmer, to his relief. “Marie,” she told him.
“All right, Marie,” Jor-El said, carefully keeping his eyes on the road this time. “Can you tell us what happened? You said there was a ‘monster’?” He still doubted it; he had read that there were still animals known as bears in these woods, and occasionally wolves were also spotted, and it seemed more likely that she had seen one of these animals unexpectedly.
“Yeah,” Marie replied, pulling her cardigan tighter across her chest as if chilled. “My - my boyfriend and I were, um, just parked down that side road, you know? And he heard something. I told him not to go outside - I mean, you’d think he’d learn something from all the movies we’ve seen, right? But he went anyway, and the next thing I knew-”
Jor-El didn’t need an explanation. The look on her face was enough: whatever it had been, it had attacked her companion.
In the back seat, too softly for human ears, and in Kryptonian, Zor-El muttered, “Idiot.”
Jor-El glanced off the road to give Zor-El a pointed look through the rear-view mirror, but soon Marie screamed and he saw the creature in front of them in the road, a great hulking thing, like a man and a beast all at once.
He swerved again, narrowly missing it as he had Marie minutes earlier. What in the name of Mother Krypton… In the mirror he saw the beast come charging at the car.
At an inhuman speed.
“What is it?” he asked, pressing on the accelerator and quickly dismayed to discover that the beast was matching his speed.
“You’ll never believe me, Joe,” Marie said, her eyes full with tears.
“Just tell me!” Jor-El demanded. “This beast is catching up with us!”
“A werewolf.”
Jor-El blinked. Werewolf. Didn’t we see a movie a few days ago… “How does one defeat such a creature?”
To his surprise, the answer came from the backseat. “With a silver object,” Zor-El piped up, helpful for once. “Have we anything made of silver?”
Silver was element number forty-seven, generally seen as a shiny grey metal. Jewelry was a common usage, but neither he nor Zor-El were so adorned. And while the Impala had a number of shiny metal accents, he believed they were in fact chrome. That left - “Marie, have you anything of silver?”
“My necklace,” she said, as if suddenly realizing it. “I - I think it’s silver.” A moment later, she had unclasped it and dropped it into his outstretched hand.
The vague idea of a plan in mind, he announced, “Hold on,” and spun the car around and hit the brake.
Not quite Steve McQueen, but it’ll do, he decided. He climbed out of the car, the silver chain in hand. “Stay here,” he ordered. Zor-El began to protest, but he quickly gave him an additional order, in Kryptonian: “Keep Marie safe.”
His brother huffed a little but sat down again. Jor-El squared his shoulders and prepared to battle the beast.
The creature had stopped a few yards away, as if puzzled by the fact that they had stopped. But now, likely seeing him as easy prey, it charged, running on its strange hind legs. Jor-El met it halfway.
The beast was heavy and strong, but Jor-El was more powerful under the influence of Sol-3’s yellow star and he wrestled it to the ground, one hand pushing on its windpipe. They rolled a little, picking up the dust and grime of the road, but Jor-El ignored that, concentrating on the beast. He did not wish to hurt it, let alone kill it - but what would prevent its horrid actions from recurring? If the legends from the movies were true, a man was trapped inside this unfortunate creature and had no control over its actions. With his other hand, he draped the silver necklace over the creature’s throat - and at once it began to smoke and the creature howled.
I guess its silver indeed. The acrid smell filled his nostrils and he gagged on it a little, but continued to hold the beast fast. “I am sorry for your misfortune, friend,” he said softly in Kryptonian. I hope I am doing the right thing.” He hesitated as he pulled the chain tight around the creature’s throat and then pulled even tighter still, strangling it. “I shall remember you during the rites of bri-kuram,” he promised.
The creature went limp - and then disappeared.
Jor-El fell forward and found himself still clutching the silver chain but the werewolf was gone. There was no sign it had even been there - no remnants of its body, save his own position in the middle of the road, and the way he held the silver necklace in his hands.
Puzzled, he stood up. In the movie, did the werewolf not revert to its human form when it died? he wondered, but he had little time to contemplate it: a moment later, Marie was rushing towards him.
“It has disappeared,” he informed her, but it didn’t seem to give her any pause because she continued on her direct path towards him. “You were so brave! So strong!” she gushed, and he frowned, because there was something in her tone of voice that he found distasteful. Before he could identify it, she reached him and took advantage of his confusion, throwing her arms around him. “My hero,” she whispered and then kissed him.
From the car, Zor-El’s voice traveled as he complained: “Of course you get the girl…”
His mind clouded with confusion, Jor-El pushed Marie away, but -
She was no longer Marie. It was the blonde girl he’d seen all those many months before, at the transit station in Kryptonopolis, the girl with the jewel-blue eyes he’d fallen for on sight. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Why aren’t you on Krypton - ”
“Joe?”
Jor-El blinked and suddenly he was no longer on some night-darkened road, holding Marie or the mysterious Kryptonian girl. No - he was still on Earth, in the North American region called New York, but he was in his landlady’s living room, the television on and most of the lights off. The landlady’s son was staring at him.
And he was floating several feet above the couch.
The Kryptonian language did not seem to have a word strong enough for this situation, and he would not corrupt the boy - all of seven Earth years - with an English term behind Mrs. Swann’s back, so he bit his tongue and gathered every calming thought in reach until he had lowered himself back onto the couch.
He had fallen asleep while watching a Saturday evening horror movie. He had dreamed himself into the story, and his brother, too. But he was alone on Earth these last few months: Zor-El was still at home on Krypton.
“Mr. Joe?” the boy ventured.
Jor-El sighed. Perhaps any other child could be swayed to eventually ignore what had just happened, but not this boy: he was an intelligent - outrageously intelligent - child, one with an interest in the stars already, and an aptitude for science. On Krypton, he would be groomed for great things in astronomy, astrophysics, anything related to space travel - but on Earth he was merely the precocious child of a poor widow who rented out her extra rooms for money.
Little “Swannie” - as he had heard the other children call the boy, as the child’s given name was unfashionable - deserved better.
“Are you an alien, Mr. Joe?” Swannie asked with a childish lack of tact.
One small boy, who already knows discretion, Jor-El mused. His classmates have no idea the power of his mind. He keeps his thoughts quite secret already. The decision made, Jor-El sighed a little and gave his answer: “Yes, Swannie, I am an alien.”
Swannie’s blue eyes went wide in surprise, his eyebrows nearly reaching his dark hair, but there was no fear in his expression - only surprise and delight. “I knew it! I knew it! And your name isn’t really Joseph Elliot, is it, Mr. Joe?”
Jor-El smiled. “No. My real name is Jor-El.”
“And that sounds like Joe Elliot,” the boy quickly deduced before his expression turned a little serious. “If I promised not to tell anyone - I know this is a secret, Mr. Joe - will you show me which star you come from?” Swannie asked.
As I thought, Jor-El reminded himself, though he hesitated a little before agreeing. “Yes, I will tell you. Go get your astronomy atlas and I will show it to you.” The boy had shared his enthusiasm for the topic, and that specific book, on a number of occasions since Jor-El had taken the room.
Swannie grinned and ran off with childish exhuberance. Jor-El sighed again, leaning against the back of the couch. I hope I am doing the right thing by telling him the truth.
Looking towards the boy’s room, listening to the rustle of shifting papers and other ephemera as the boy retrieved his book, Jor-El shook his head. You will do great things in your life. I can only hope I have half your ambition and talent, Virgil Swann.
[END]