[ Disclaimer: Superman: Man of Steel belongs to the Warner Bros. and whoever came up with DC Comics. The song "Kiss It Better" is owned by the duo He Is We. I own nothing ]

Kiss It Better

*music intro*
"He sits in his cell,
And he lays on his bed,
Covers his head, and closes his eyes..."

The tiny room only held a view of a toilet, a tennis ball-sized hole in the wall crumbling, and concrete floor; there was a drafty breeze, and the bed that he was currently occupying made up the rest of the six-by-nine room.

He hadn't slept at all that night or the day before which he was kept here. He had only sat on the edge of the hard bed, his head bowed over his knees, large hands pressed together as if in a prayer, though there was no one to pray to, nothing to pray for anymore. His head felt weighty and he huffed a lungful of air.

It was uncomfortably hot too, the room itself looked aged and unsanitary; spiderwebs had collected in one corner and he didn't want to look under the raised bed. Never had he thought he would be here; no-one would have suspected that he of all people would have been thrown in here.

But it was his punishment, and one he rightfully deserved.

He could hear the screams of other inmates, of the banging of jail cells, curses, and fights happening just a floor below. There was a fight in the cafeteria and an inmate contemplating of suicide, and there was the sound of rumbling and damage and breaking, like a pickax on stone, and he knew that none of the guards inside the building would know until too late.

But none of the sounds outside compared to the inner turmoil raging inside the lonely man.

'It is already too late.'

Zod. It had to be him and the Kryptonian crew—that had to be the only explanation of hearing the faint sounds of choking and gravel being broken. Ever since that general had made contact with Earth, he done nothing but cause destruction and disaster and chaos.

The man clenched his hands tighter, nails digging into his palms and his knuckles begun to turn paper-white. He could hear the authorities talking down the hall, feet echoing like an ominous foretelling of his demise—talking about him; about his judgement date, his fate, and he could suspect what it would be. No, what it should be but wouldn't work. Just the thought of what they will be determined to inflict as justice made him uneasy.

Well, of course it would.

But—should he continue with this façade, even now? Should he finally draw down his veil and reveal to who he really was—was that even the best route? He knew that either way he was a dead man—if the law didn't get to him first, General Zod would.

Time was running out, and he could hear them coming.

Did he feel ashamed for his actions? Remorse? Normally, he would have, but not so much anymore—he knows that he should, but—

It felt as if that part of him had gone when she had.

He closed his eyes as the flashback of that night played back behind his eyes, that night he didn't play his cards right and that changed his life forever.

"You are the embodiment of the belief that a child can aspire to become something greater... You can give the people of Earth hope—that is what this symbol is for... You will give them an ideal to strive towards. They will stumble, they will fall, but in time they will join you when the sun comes."

The words of his father echoed in his head like a curse—and he grimaced—he had let his father down. He had had the weight of two different worlds—two entire planets—on his shoulders, and he left them to become exterminated like pests, without a fighting chance.

He had stumbled, like his father had said, but he is the one who had really fell. And quite drastically. Dramatically. Unnecessarily, as his father would have said. Pitifully. Stupidly. Preposterously. He knew he would be seen as a lie, a more darker emblem from now own. Billions of people around the world will now see him as the thing he had wanted to escape since his early youth, the title he had finally just been able to remove: from being seen as an oddity or some kind of mutant. A threat.

Freak.

Evil.

A monster.

He rubbed his face tiredly and then lowered his fingertips to rest under his chin, his hands still together as if in prayer as he stared up at the white prison ceiling. The fluorescent lights flickered and a loud crunch sounded outside, closer this time. He promptly pushed his glasses back up his nose, fighting the burning prickling in his eyes from the start of tears.

Well, he wasn't normal, so what else is there of him, he thought to himself. 'You live up to whatever is true about you. ...They were right all along...'

A sudden crashing sounded, much too close this time, and making him jump—and that he realized they were now inside. He didn't need to look over to the guard outside of his cell—and who had been staring at him intently—to know the burly guard was now running around like a loose hen. ...A hen like the ones back on the farm. With his other father, the one that raised him, before he too died. With his other mother, Martha.

His mother...

That was another person close to him, important to him, that he has failed and led to die. A heavy knot formed in his gut and the lump in his throat returned.

Heavy footfalls echoed down the hallway, approaching closer and closer. It would be only a matter of seconds until his Grim Reaper was on the other side of those metal bars, whichever it may be—a judge, an officer, Zod?

When had he ever talked so negatively? This was not like him at all. ...But then again, the old him had died that night, seemingly a long time ago, alongside her, and a new Clark Kent had been born.

AN: I've only seen Man of Steel once, and plan on seeing it again sometime soon, so please tell me if I get any of the Superman details wrong.

This is of course not directly going along the MoS storyline. I guess a sort of "what if" if Zod did not exactly die just yet...

review review please!