Chapter Text
2. Be Prepared!
He didn't get the boy scout nickname. Dumb thing, he just didn't see it. Superheroes weren't like that- they weren't human. They were figures. Heroes.
There were boy scout parts to Clark. Sure. He wrote notes in cursive and packed them in lunch boxes, he knew how to tie a neckerchief, and he seemed like the kind of guy who would pick you up from a party at four in the morning if he needed to. But Superman? The alien, last son of Krypton, hero? How could he ever be a boy scout?
Superman had a utility belt. Of course- why wouldn't he?
Superman pulled band-aids, Reading Rainbow band-aids, out of his belt when a kid had a scraped knee in a park.
Superman carried granola bars in his pockets. Chewy chocolate chip ones, ready to hand out to any hero who had blood sugar drop. He had tossed one to Dick at a meeting. Superman had given him a granola bar because he saw a sugar crisis.
The thing that really got him to believe? The lock picks. Superman, of all people, had a lock picking kit in his utility belt. He had to ask. Why?
He did ask, that night at dinner. Clark grinned sheepishly, and gave him an answer.
"Be Prepared!"