What's wrong with Superman's son wanting to be Superman?

Page 462

“Yeah, right!” Jordan said matter-of-factly. “This is our ‘airplane’! Come on in, don’t waste time!” Without waiting for a reply, he lifted the lid of the cardboard box and gestured for Sam to crawl inside.

"???????"

Sam was devastated. He felt that placing his hopes on the Kent family was perhaps the most foolish decision he had ever made in his demon-hunting career, even more foolish than trying to bathe a vampire with holy water. This family, including his parents, probably didn't have a single sane person!

But the money had already been given... and he really didn't have a better solution.

"So this is going to make me hitch a ride in the cargo hold of this plane?" Sam gritted his teeth, feeling as if he were going to his execution, and humiliatingly crawled into the corrugated cardboard box that still smelled of pulp.

The space was cramped, and he could only sit huddled up. Jordan closed the lid, leaving only a small gap for ventilation. Then Sam felt the cardboard box suddenly lighten.

My whole being started to rise rapidly!

"Damn it! What's going on!"

He peered out and discovered that Jordan was lifting him up and flying him away.

“Whoosh——!!”

A strong feeling of weightlessness washed over him, and a cold wind instantly rushed in through the crack, making Sam shiver. He looked out through the crack and saw the lights on the ground rapidly shrinking.

The surrounding clouds swept by rapidly.

"What the hell!"

Sam was so scared he almost fainted.

He... he really did fly into the sky from inside a cardboard box!

We're on the plane.

But it was just a paper airplane!

Who can bear this!

Sam trembled.

Meanwhile, the "pilot" Jordan was holding up the bottom of the cardboard box with both hands, flying in the air in a posture that looked extremely leisurely and aerodynamically incompatible with airflow.

There was a layer of white frost on the other person's glasses.

The temperature was extremely low high up, and the wind was biting cold. Sam shivered uncontrollably inside the cardboard box, his teeth chattering. He stopped worrying about Jordan's superpowers and instead roared in exasperation.

"Is your family all such bloodsuckers? You've completely ripped off the plane ticket! What kind of transportation is this?!" Sam never dreamed that Ian's second brother could actually fly.

Moreover, they lack martial ethics and use this superpower to profit from price differences.

Outside, the sound of Jordan's voice could be heard, broken and intermittent, as if blown by the wind.

"Flying is flying no matter what... I... I even prepared a 'flying meal' for you... This... This is a privilege only available in first class..."

Jordan spoke with absolute certainty.

A flight meal? Sam paused, then noticed a small paper bag with the fast-food restaurant's logo tucked into the corner of the cardboard box. His hands trembled as he opened it. Inside was a cold, dry-looking hamburger and a small bag of fries—a typical "nigger meal" costing no more than ten dollars.

"Dad, Dad, where did you go! This world is so dangerous!" Sam looked at the "first-class flight meal," then felt the drafty "paper airplane" that looked like it could fall apart at any moment, and the "pilot" outside whose flying skills seemed even worse than Dean's driving skills.

He was truly heartbroken.

Helpless, the teenage exorcist could only desperately comfort himself: At least... at least Jordan is not an ordinary person, he can fly... it's faster than taking a long-distance bus, right?

and.

In Metropolis, there's a possibility that someone who can fly might be related to Superman. Thinking about it this way, and considering Superman's reputation in Metropolis, Sam calmed down a bit.

However, he simply didn't understand, he truly didn't understand. Ian's family seemed like a typical middle-class family, living on a farm with a barn, and Jordan himself was a superhuman with such incredible power, so why were they so obsessed with money? "Money-grubbing" didn't even begin to describe it!

Amidst the howling wind, Sam couldn't help but shout, "Damn it, you've been trying to swindle me out of my money. Does your family... use all your money to support your youngest brother?"

Sam didn't mention Ian's name because the other person was impersonating him.

Jordan outside was silent for a few seconds, as if gathering his strength to fight the wind resistance, before answering breathlessly: "On the contrary... In our family, except for Mom, we all owe my brother money... Ever since Dad's secret stash of money was blown up in an accident, he has also owed Ian a lot of money to buy the latest farm tools."

“Although family loans don’t have much interest, I still have to save up to pay him back.” Jordan’s voice was filled with endless bitterness; he did indeed owe Ian a large sum of money.

"You seem to be a high school student. Do you really need that much money?" Sam was even more puzzled. He couldn't imagine what kind of huge expenses a high school student could have.

Does the other party's superpower require spending money?

Jordan, standing outside the cardboard box, let out a meaningful, world-weary "heh," his tone carrying a hint of criticism for the declining morals of contemporary society.

"What do you know, you're just a kid? You have no idea how much it costs to support a wife, at least... it starts at 648... and there's no guarantee you'll get one..."

Jordan's voice, carrying a heavy sigh as if bearing the weight of the entire world, drifted into the cardboard box, leaving Sam, who wasn't into secondhand games, completely bewildered.

The only thing he could think of was that Jordan used 648 to find those paid girlfriends. The still naive Sam didn't know that Jordan's love had already gone beyond the realm of reality.

"648? What did I get?"

Sam didn't understand at all. What was all this about?

But Jordan seemed lost in some sad memory, no longer answering, just flying with his head down, his flight path erratic, as if his heart was bleeding.

Sam wrapped his thin coat tighter around himself, shivering in the cold cardboard box, his mind filled with countless questions about the mysterious Kent family.

The journey was filled with absurdity and... poverty from the very beginning. After several hours of freezing, nauseating "paper airplane" travel at high altitude, the corrugated cardboard box finally began to descend slowly. When Jordan pulled the almost frozen Sam out of the box, the two were already standing in a damp, dark alley on the outskirts of Seattle.

"I... I'm still alive?" Sam's face turned pale and his lips turned purple. He hugged his arms and kept stamping his feet to keep warm, feeling like his blood was about to freeze.

"Your physical condition isn't as good as Ian's when he was a kid. I remember when I was twelve, I was racing with Ian, and I almost crashed my head off, but Ian was still jumping around."

Jordan stopped pretending and laid his cards on the table. He had already provided the service and no longer needed to impersonate Ian as Ian had requested. He didn't believe Ian's super hearing could have heard this far.

"..."

Sam's teeth chattered, unwilling to dwell on what was wrong with this family. He looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings, trying to discern directions. "According to the last information... the last place my dad and the others were seen was an abandoned church nearby called St. Caesar's."

Jordan carefully folded the slightly deformed corrugated cardboard box, stuffed it into the nearby trash can, then pushed up his glasses, a hint of eagerness on his face.

"Then...where do we go to look for clues now?" As a rookie superhero, he was not very familiar with the process, so for a moment he was like a headless superhero.

Sam rubbed his hands together and breathed on them, trying to warm himself up.

"This kind of place... is a mixed bag, and the most well-informed places are usually the nearby bars or motels. Let's go find a bar and ask around first."

After all, he had participated in many demon-hunting operations with his father and brother, so he had a deep impression of similar procedures, and he felt that his father and brother must have been to similar places.

The two walked out of the alley and soon found a bar that looked quite old, with dim lighting and a sign that was missing a few letters – “The Lost Angel’s Home”.

These days, roadside bars love to pull these kinds of gimmicks. They're almost all run by the older generation of motorcycle gangs with their chuunibyou tendencies, and you can hear loud music and muffled conversations coming from inside.

Sam straightened his clothes, trying to look more mature, even though he still looked like a child among a group of adults, though the children didn't see it that way.

“You… wait for me outside. I’ll go in and ask. You don’t seem… quite right for this kind of occasion.” Sam was a little afraid that Jordan would start talking nonsense once he went in.

He simply couldn't imagine what it would be like for someone with Jordan's charisma to enter a bar like this.

"Okay, I don't like crowded places either." Jordan seemed relieved and nodded quickly, then leaned against a nearby lamppost, pretending to look at the scenery.

Sam took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy, greasy wooden door.

The bar was filled with smoke and the air was thick with the mingled smells of alcohol, sweat, and cheap perfume. A motley crew of people, all looking suspicious, gathered there: burly men in leather jackets covered in tattoos, mysterious figures whispering amongst themselves, and several scantily clad, heavily made-up women moving through the crowd.

Sam's heart was racing, but he forced himself to calm down, walked to the bar, and spoke to the burly, menacing-looking bartender who was wiping glasses.

"A Cuba Libre, no alcohol, just Coke, with a fan on top and thinly sliced ​​lemon." Sam tried his best to comb his hair into an adult-like style.

The bartender glanced at him, said nothing, and handed him a bottle of Coke.

Sam paid, took a sip, and then asked in a low voice, as if casually.

"Excuse me, I'd like to ask about something. I heard there's an old church nearby called St. Caesar's. Has anything strange happened there lately? Or... have two out-of-town men been here? One was older and very serious, and the other was taller than me and liked to wear denim jackets..."

This seemed to be a taboo in the small town.

The bartender paused for a moment while wiping the glasses.

His cloudy eyes swept sharply over Sam, his voice low and threatening: "Kid, don't ask questions you shouldn't ask. Finish your drink and get out of here."

Sam's heart skipped a beat; he knew he'd found the right place, but the other person was clearly unwilling to say more. Somewhat unwilling to give up, he tentatively asked again, mentioning that he'd heard the place was haunted.

That was the sentence that really infuriated the bartender.

Who would want someone to declare their hometown?

Clearly, Sam's inquiries were rather clumsy.

"Bang!"

The bartender slammed his glass down on the bar with a loud bang, silencing the entire bar instantly and drawing all eyes to Sam.

“I’ll say it one last time, kid,” the bartender’s voice was icy cold, “get out. Or I’ll throw you out.”

Several burly men stood up from their seats and surrounded them with ill intent.

Sam's heart leaped into his throat. His hand stealthily reached for the dagger at his back waist, cold sweat trickling down his forehead. He realized he might have been too hasty and gotten himself into trouble.

At this tense moment—

"I...I'm so sorry! Everyone, I'm so sorry!" A figure rushed in in a panic—it was Jordan!

He had clearly heard the commotion outside, and now his face was full of apology as he kept bowing to those around him.

He grabbed Sam's arm and apologized repeatedly to the bartender and the people who had gathered around: "I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! My brother... he has a problem here!"

Jordan pointed to his head and made a "you know" expression.

"He watches too many movies and fantasizes about being a Witcher all the time! He's causing you trouble! We're leaving now! We're leaving now!" With that, he practically dragged the still-dazed Sam out of the bar without another word. As soon as they stepped out of the bar, the cold air hit them, and Sam snapped back to reality, filled with lingering fear.

"I'm sorry, I was too hasty. I just... I just really wanted to find them." Sam realized he had been too impulsive, and his tone was tinged with regret.

Jordan looked at Sam's face, a mixture of anxiety, fear, and stubbornness, and suddenly sighed. His tone softened, even carrying a hint of...commonplace.

“It’s alright, I’ve been saying these lines for years, they come right out of my mouth. Compared to Ian, you’re not that bad.” Jordan pushed up his crooked glasses, his gaze fixed on the dark street in the distance, as if recalling some unbearable past. His tone carried a profound sense of vicissitude that only those who have truly weathered storms could understand.

The "storm" here specifically refers to the Ian brand storm.

"I see."

Sam recalled his impression of Ian, who was notoriously infuriating, and nodded understandingly. It was hard to imagine the chaotic scene that would ensue if Ian got into trouble. Clearly, the fact that Ian could remain so unconventional all his life suggested that he had some kind of family protection behind him.

The two stood on the cold, damp streets of Seattle, speechless for a moment.

After failed inquiries, confusing clues, and a temporary teammate who seemed somewhat reliable, Sam pulled out his phone, unsure of where to begin.

"Let's go. If the bar isn't working, let's think of something else. This place is so small, it's not hard to find a church. We can just search all the churches."

The small town outside Seattle was shrouded in a damp mist, the air thick with the scents of moss, seawater, and a faint, almost imperceptible decay. Sam Winchester and Jordan Kent walked the rather deserted streets, trying to find out about the Church of St. Caesar.