Here's the thing. If Clark could count the number of times he'd fallen from the sky, he'd need to have way more fingers than he currently had. Falling from the sky, when you could fly, had a tendency to be a common occurrence. Hell, the number of times he crashed as a teenager was embarrassing. He rarely talked about it. Even to Kara. Though, she picked up pretty fast on her own. Now, though, he was free falling--unconscious--diving straight to the ground.
One minute, Clark had been making his usual trip back to Metropolis after deciding to pay his cousin a visit. This time with, well, an intention to actually visit rather than keep his distance so that she might have the breathing room to be herself. Superman cast a wide shadow. He knew that. And, if there was one thing he knew, it was the burden of the public's opinion when it came to Superman--naysayers and praisers alike. Except--somehow, in the middle of the dark sky--a bright light shone knocking him off course, enveloping him, overwhelming him, and he was knocked out.
Now, here he was. Careening to the earth -- striking through webs, thick enough to at least temper his fall, until he crashed into the ground--leaving a small crack in the street. Though, in all honesty, it should probably be deeper than what it was. So, there he was -- sprawled on the ground, a backpack hidden underneath his cape, and dead to the world. Just another Sunday night, he supposed.