Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was five minutes before closing time when Clark arrived outside Vicky May’s. He’d taken the back road into town without a hint of superspeed, hoping the slow walk would clear his head - but the echoes of his son’s callous words refused to budge.

"I didn’t forget… I just didn’t care."

Clark barely recognised his son in that moment, and the resulting fight had been one of the worst of his life. He tried to simply cool off after sending Jordan up to his room, pushing his anxious thoughts to one side and returning his attention to his wife. She’d been putting on a brave face all day, but she was obviously just as worried as he was. Not only had their impulsive son just revealed his existence to the world, but they’d also had news that Luthor had been released from prison, secretly, some hours earlier.

As if they weren’t dealing with enough to push any normal family over the edge, with Lois’ battle with cancer dominating all of their lives for most of this last year: now the man they’d helped put away for almost two decades was out there somewhere, with who knows what kind of revenge on his mind.

It really was just the perfect addition to this relentless pile on of a year.

Clark tried to focus on Lois’ words as she bounced ideas of who they could contact and how they could prepare for what might come next. He listened to her spit-balling strategies for each unfolding crisis - something that would usually have twitched the corner of his mouth into a half smile as he marvelled at her brilliant mind - but try as he might, he found he just couldn’t keep his attention on the topic at hand, his mind drifting off to replay his fight with Jordan over and over.

As always, his wife could see the struggle written all over his face; she could read him like a well-worn, dog-eared book.

Instead of confronting him or trying to get him to talk about it before he was ready, she stood up, wandering over to the almost empty box of herbal tea on the counter and exaggerating the discovery of its nearly depleted contents.   

"Hey, do you think you could get me some more from Vicky May’s?" she suggested with a raised eyebrow.

He hesitated briefly, trying to work out whether accepting her loosely disguised invitation to take some time felt too much like running away.

"Look, there’s nothing more we can do right now anyway," she said, stroking a reassuring hand down his arm. "It’s a beautiful night out. Why don’t you just take a walk into town? It might do you some good."

"What if Luthor…" he tried to argue, but she was one step ahead of him, holding up her ELT and giving it a wiggle. "Besides, my dad’s right here. We’ll be fine, Clark. It’s not like he’s just going to rock up at our farm in Smallville."

He raised his own eyebrow back at her for saying something that felt an awful lot like tempting fate, before kissing her softly on the lips. "Fine. Just… call me if he does."

As soon as he stepped foot outside, the cool Kansas air washed over him, calming his still shaken nerves, and he knew his wife had been right.

She was always right.

He strolled out onto the dirt road, sinking into the grounding presence of the silent farmland around him; every step shaking off another bit of his pent up energy. The light from the moon and the stars was so bright that he could easily see the path ahead without any super-vision required.

He lifted his head up to gaze all around him at the brilliant night sky, unlike anything that was visible from Metropolis; no light pollution and no skyscrapers blocking the startlingly clear view of a universe stretching out endlessly into the black.

So many nights he’d stared up at that sky, wondering where he was from, how he’d made it to earth. Once his parent’s had shown him his ship and he’d seen the very alien way it responded to his touch, he’d know his home was pretty far away from Smallville. The very sun that tingled his skin, making him stronger and stronger each day, was likely not even the same sun he was born under.

And yet, it was home.

The only home he’d ever known.

Training with Jor-El at the fortress had taught him a lot about his Kryptonian culture, and he tried to respect and honor his people’s memory every day; but the experiences he’d had right here in Smallville, the way his parent’s raised him - that was what had made him into the man he was today.

By that logic, didn’t that mean Jordan’s attitude was, at least in part, his fault?

Clark tried so hard not to dwell on the past, but he knew not being around enough when the boys were young had impacted them both. Maybe more than they’d wanted to admit. They’d known it wasn’t going to be easy, but they’d been naïvely optimistic. As cynical as he often was, in some ways, Sam had been right.

Every day he found himself grappling with his split responsibilities, trying to make impossible decisions in the moment between spending time with his children and saving people's lives. It seemed no matter what he chose, he was usually left feeling some sense of guilt.

Sometimes he’d managed to find a good balance. They had plenty of happy family memories, and the boys knew they were loved by both of their parents – but by the time they’d moved to Smallville, he could tell there was a lot he needed to make up for.

Clark thought back to Jordan’s defiant outburst earlier that evening. The way his son had spoken to him. The way he’d hit out, using his super strength to bat away his father’s hand.

Where was all this anger coming from?

Obviously, he’d had a lot to deal with this year with Lois’ cancer. The stress and worry of not knowing whether their mom was going to survive had hit both boys in unpredictable ways. He had to admit, he’d been blindsided by his own reaction at times too.

Jordan had clearly been struggling socially again this year. He seemed to be spending most of his time obsessing about Sarah, finding it hard to figure out his place in Smallville outside of their relationship.

Clark had hoped training him at the fortress and taking him out on saves, would give him a boost of confidence. Show him the kind of man that he could be, the kind of impact he could have on the world; but he had to admit, he had noticed Jordan becoming a little… cocky lately. He’d brushed it off, thinking it was just a phase, that he could be trusted not to do anything stupid.

He’d never expected his son to be so selfish.

And what for? Some reckless pursuit of superficial attention? This wasn’t just some celebrity fad he could indulge in to get followers on social media. Exposing himself as a superhero came with some real risks – not just to their family’s secret, but also to his physical safety. Clark knew from years of experience; superheroes tended to attract enemies.

His anger surged again, just as he reached the diner, but he needed to push it aside. At least for five minutes, while he bought Lois' tea. 

As he entered, the little bell above the door rang out, alerting the familiar waitress. Sarah lifted her head at the sound of the unexpected, last minute customer, pausing mid way through wiping down the counter.

"Oh, hey Mr Kent!" she said, shaking off her initially startled expression.

"Hey Sarah, how are you?"

"Oh, you know… living the dream," she said, rolling her eyes as she lifted the cloth suggestively.

"Probably beats clearing manure out of horse stables," Clark countered, thinking back to his own first job at the Millner’s farm.

Her nose wrinkled in response. "Um yeah, I think I’ll stick to dirty dishes. What can I do for you?"

"Uh, just came to grab a pack of that herbal tea, if you have it?"

"Oh sure, the stuff Mrs Lane likes? Vicky got in a whole bunch extra, she wanted to make sure we didn’t run out."

Clark smiled genuinely at the small kindness. They’d had many offers of help and anonymous gifts showing up at their door throughout Lois’ treatment, reinforcing just how thankful he was they’d taken the leap and moved back to Smallville when they did.

"That’s so thoughtful," Clark said sincerely. "Please thank her for me."

"Sure thing, Mr Kent," Sarah said as she rang it up for him, placing it in a carrier bag and handing it to him over the counter. "Glad to hear she’s doing better by the way. And… how’s Jordan doing?"

She looked down awkwardly, seemingly trying to pass the question off as casual.

Clark knew things had been fraught between her and his son, especially since the car crash. It was yet another thing he knew he needed to have a real conversation with him about.

"He’s… working through some stuff," Clark offered carefully.  

She simply nodded, biting her lip for a moment before looking at the clock on the diner wall.

"Well, I’ve gotta lock up now. If I don’t get home before ten, my mom sends out a search party these days," she said in a light tone, but Clark knew that probably wasn’t far from the truth.

"You okay getting home?" Clark asked, and she nodded gratefully.

"Dad’s picking me up."

Right on time, Clark heard the toot of a car horn outside, and turned to see Kyle pulling up across the street. Sarah grabbed her coat and bag from the hook behind her and switched off the remaining lights before making her way around the counter.

She looked up at him, biting her lip like she wanted to say something.

"What is it?" Clark encouraged.

"It’s just… don’t go too hard on Jordan, okay?"

Clark widened his eyes in surprise. He hadn’t expected Sarah to be taking his side after everything that had happened.

"Don’t get me wrong, he’s been a total jackass lately… but I don’t think what he did after the tornado is what it looks like," she explained. "There’s no way Jordan really wants to be famous. He hates being the centre of attention. I just think he’s confused, you know? I think all the stuff he can do, all the things he can hear… it’s a lot."

"He talked to you about this?" Clark asked curiously.

"Um, no, not exactly…" Sarah replied, looking down like she was trying to find the right words. "But I know he hears people getting hurt sometimes and he just has to… turn it off, you know? It’s gotta be hard just sitting on the sidelines, knowing you can do more to help."

Clark simply nodded, processing what she'd shared. He did know, all too well. He understood what it was like to feel the twisting guilt of turning a blind ear to a constant background of distress. To the frustration building up towards all the parts of his life holding him back from being able to do anything about it. In fact, he’d lost his temper at his own mother, right around Jordan’s age. Just before he’d made the journey into the arctic, looking for answers his son already had.

"Thanks Sarah," he said gratefully, holding the door open for her and then stepping aside as she locked it behind them. "You know, you’re a really good friend."

She rolled her eyes again and scoughed, "Pfft, yeah… tell that to Jordan."

Clark gave her a sympathetic smile before they were interrupted by another toot of that impatient car horn. He looked up to see Kyle waving at him in that overly eager way he’d been doing ever since he’d told him about his alter ego. He really hoped that would stop some time soon.

"Okay, I gotta go. Goodnight, Mr Kent!" she said as she dashed across the street.

Clark watched as they drove away, finding himself once again alone in the small-town high street but feeling much calmer than he had before. He was still angry and dissapointed in Jordan's behaviour... but Sarah's insight had reminded him just how unusual what he was going through was. 

There really was no handbook for this.

He turned and walked back down the street, considering whether to walk home the way he came or just fly back now. Just as he made the decision to duck into the alley next to the diner for a stealthy take off, a sound from within its shadows caught his attention.

"Hello?"

He resisted the urge to use his X-ray vision as he peered into the darkness. He didn’t make a habit out of intruding on someone’s privacy unless there was definite danger, so he simply listened to what any normal person could hear and took a few steps into the alley. As he did, the sound became clearer. Someone was softly sobbing in the alleyway, clearly in some sort of distress.  

"Hey, are you okay there?" he tried again. "Do you need any help?"

There was no response, but the muffled whimpers got even louder.

Something about this felt really strange. In fact, his instincts were picking up some sense of danger. Silent alarm bells were ringing in his mind, telling Clark to walk away; but he couldn’t just leave this person without making sure they were at least safe.

Ignoring the internal warning signs, he headed further into the alley, leaving the warm light of the streetlamp behind as he stepped into the darkness.  

***

Lois checked her laptop for the millionth time that night, hitting refresh on the numerous tabs she had open. Between news about Jordan’s public appearance and what seemed to be a total lack of news about Luthor’s whereabouts, she couldn’t help but feel compelled to try and catch any updates as soon as they happened.

They needed to be prepared, in both cases, for what was coming next.

"If he's not gonna stop using his powers, you need to keep him busy doing something else," her dad said, handing her a cup of herbal tea.

There were actually 3 boxes of the stuff under the kitchen counter, but Clark didn’t need to know that. He’d needed some time to calm down, and she knew he was too stubborn to just leave without her giving him some kind of mission.  

Lois sighed at her dad’s pointed expression.

She knew he was just trying to help, but his idea of good parenting and hers were very different things. Sure, she and Clark were going to have to talk to him, figure out what was really going on; but just keeping busy wasn’t the answer. In fact, the boys growing up with such busy parents and busy lives might well be part of the issue. The whole point of moving to Smallville was to slow things down. To give the boys space to be able to figure all this stuff out.

"The more we push back, the more he's gonna defy us," she replied, "He's just at that stage right now."

Sam hesitated briefly, opening his mouth like he was about to say something… and then decided against it.

"Lex ever show up at LuthorCorp?" her dad asked instead, changing the subject to the less loaded of the day’s threats to their lives.

"Doesn't look like it," she said, clicking refresh one more time for good measure. "Does the DOD have any idea where he went?"

Sam was just shaking his head in an obviously concerned ‘no’, when they were surprised by a knock on the front door. Lois looked up at her dad warily, wondering who’d be stopping by at this time of night? Especially lately, with Lois’ cancer treatment; everybody knew not to disturb them so late. Not that they got that many unexpected visitors as it was.

Sam held out his hand and placed a finger over his mouth as he stood up. He walked quietly over to the window, peeking out through the curtain to see who was out on the porch.

His face dropped immediately.

"It’s Luthor," he whispered in disbelief as he returned.

Lois just stared at him for a second, considering her earlier conversation with Clark, and almost laughing at the ballsiness of it. She fondled the ELT in her pocket, considering whether to use it. Surely he wouldn’t be stupid enough to actually cause them any harm, by his own hand, on the day he was released from prison? Besides, the sonic boom of Clark arriving suddenly might cause more problems than it solved.

No, she would call him if anything happened, but she and her dad could handle Luthor for now.

"Well… I was going to have to face him at some point," Lois said with a sigh. "Guess now is as good a time as any."

She was impressed by her dad’s restraint as he managed to hold back his obvious desire to argue with her. Instead, he fell by her side protectively as she opened the door and stepped out onto the porch.

"Been a long time."

The monster she had spent so long trying to forget, was standing on her front porch, looking at her with that unnerving mix of confidence and cruelty. It turned her stomach.

"I see you managed to keep your release a secret," Lois replied evenly.

She was going to keep things civil. If he wanted to do this dance, she knew the neccesary moves.

"Warden Ellis made a few calls. Helps having powerful friends," he said, like it was nothing.

Lois made a mental note to look into the warden as soon as she could. She’d heard rumours that Lex was getting special treatment in jail, but she hadn’t known where it was coming from or exactly whose strings he was pulling. Who knows why the warden had been helping him. Maybe he was simply crooked, open to taking bribes; or maybe he was terrified and under threat, like so many other people Lex had strong armed into working for him back in the day.

He strolled across the porch and leaned on the railing, looking out into the dark fields thoughtfully. Lois hated seeing him so casually walking about her property, like he was some kind of long lost friend, free to make himself at home.

"Farm out in the country? Not what I expected from you. A lot's changed since I went away," he observed, turning back around to face her. "You got pregnant, had kids. Twins are what, 16 now?"

He placed his hands in his pockets like it was just a casual conversation, just two old friends catching up about their lives. Lois hoped the look she gave him made it clear they were far from it.

"You and I are not discussing my children," she replied firmly, trying to keep her cool but not willing to let Lex think he could walk all over her.

"What about your cancer? Is that off-limits too?" he retorted coldly, and she felt the muscles in her neck and jaw clench.

Her battle with cancer had forced her to face the most humbling level of vulnerability she’d ever known. It enraged her to see him playing around with that, shoving it in her face like he’d clearly enjoyed hearing about her brush with death from behind bars.

She felt her dad tense up beside her.

"My doctors are optimistic," she said between pursed lips.

"Funny how that worked," he continued with his little mind games. "You got sick, and your cancer led you to Bruno Mannheim's wife, and my acquittal. I should be grateful."

"For what part, exactly?"

"You should have listened to me in the first place," he said softly, giving off on an air of victimhood. "I always said I was innocent."

"The evidence at the time didn't support your story," she replied matter-of-factly.

"I guess times have changed."

"What do you want?" she asked, allowing her impatience to show.

She never was very good at beating around the bush, and after everything she’d been through that year… she was just anxious to get this psychopath off her porch without anyone getting hurt.

Her finger lingered over the red button on the ELT in her pocket, the urge to have her husband by her side increasing with every passing moment she had to be in the man’s presence.

It was just like Pia had said.

Being around him was like being in the presence of the devil.

Chapter Text

Clark’s vision adjusted as he moved further into the alleyway, and he was able to make out what appeared to be a woman in her early fifties, with blonde, chin length hair. Feeling very aware of how it might feel to be surprised by a stranger in a dead end space like this, he tried to make his approach as non-threatening as possible.

"Hey, my name’s Clark," he called out to the mysterious woman. '"I just want to make sure you’re alright."

She lifted up her head, looking much happier to see him than he’d expected, and he could see that her make-up was somehow completely unblemished.

"I just want to help, okay?" he repeated, smiling at her reassuringly. "Make sure you get home safe."

"That’s mighty sweet of you," she said, a broad smile spreading over her face in return. It looked oddly sinister in the dim light.

Clark tried to brush it off despite his earlier warning bells, but he felt his body tense and his senses kick into high alert. As his hearing amplified, he picked up another heartbeat, hidden somewhere behind them.

They weren’t alone in the alley.

He x-rayed the rest of the narrow space and quickly found the outline of a man hiding behind one of the dumpsters.

"C’mon, I think we should get you home," Clark said more urgently, extending his hand towards her and hoping she would take it. "It’s not safe here."

"You’re not wrong," she said, her voice suddenly sounding a lot less distressed. "Even for a strapping guy like you, Mr Kent."

Clark frowned at the sound of the surname he knew he hadn't shared, considering her more closely. Should he know this woman? He didn’t recognize her at all, but she was looking at him with a sort of satisfied smile, like she knew something he didn’t.

"Uh, I’m sorry, do we know each other?"

"No, we’ve never met," the woman informed him casually, "But you know my boss. He has a message for Lois Lane."

A familiar protective surge shot through him at the mention of his wife. He’d had that knee jerk response from the day he met her, but since Lois’ cancer, his fear of losing her had been tripled. Whatever this was about, it couldn’t be good. She might not get as many death threats as she used to when they were living in Metropolis, but there were still plenty of people that held a grudge.

Clark felt a twinge of anxiety as he remembered the man who’d just been pardoned. The one person with perhaps the biggest grudge of all.

"Who’s your boss?" he asked, trying not to assume the worst, even though a creeping sense of dread was beginning to wash over him. "What message?"

"Uh… it’s not really the kind of message you can relay in words…" she said suggestively, gesturing to someone behind her.  

A tall man with a goatee stepped out from his hiding place behind the dumpster, clearly the owner of the other heartbeat Clark had picked up. He glared at him menacingly, stroking his fingers over a set of brass knuckles like they were a beloved pet.

Clark felt a rush of panic adding to his growing sense of unease, and the man smiled widely, clearly enjoying the sight of fear spreading across his intended victim’s face. Though he obviously had the wrong impression about why he was afraid.  

It wasn’t like Clark was worried about his physical well-being, but this situation could still get out of hand quickly if they attacked him. Sure, he could adapt his body’s response so that he could take a punch without the other person getting hurt; but if they were looking to do more damage than that, it wouldn’t take them long to realise he wasn’t bleeding or bruising like any normal human being would.

He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, looking around the suddenly very cramped alleyway as he took a few steps back. The sound of movement behind him caused him to spin around, and he saw a second, heavy set man, approaching him from behind with a gun directed straight at him.

"Look, you don’t have to do this. Whatever hold your boss has over you, I can help," Clark tried to reason with them.

He knew so many people under Lex’s employ back in the day were there under duress. Maybe there was some slim chance they were being forced to do this against their will?

His attackers simple laughed cruelly.

"No one’s making us do anything, Mr Kent," the woman sneered, reaching her hand into her pocket. "You and your wife have no idea how many people your stories hurt. How many families you’ve broken apart. Believe me, we’re more than happy to be serving up a bit of justice for them today."

She pulled a small grey box out of her leather jacket, and held it in her hand as she watched him curiously. He tried to keep his face neutral, but in his years as Superman, the appearance of lead box in the hands of his enemy was all too familiar. Once he saw the numbers 7734 etched into the side, there was no mistaking it’s contents.

Still, he couldn't hide the initial gasp of pain as she opened the lid.

She dropped the box uselessly to the floor and held the chunk of kryptonite before her, its green glow illuminating the entire alleyway.

"Do you know what this is, Mr Kent?" she asked, gazing at the almost hypnotic throb of the small piece of krypton’s core.

He gritted his teeth and bit back any further sounds of pain, hoping his initial reaction would be interpreted as simple shock that they had a piece of Superman’s poison in their possession, and he continued to bear the overwhelming agony in silence.

"Kryptonite. Such fascinating stuff… and deadly, to Kryptonians at least. So don’t be calling for Superman’s help," she threatened. "Not unless you want him to end up dead."

He’d encountered the weaponised piece of his home world more times than he could count over the years, and gratefully he’d managed to survive each time; though sometimes only by sheer blind luck.

Those first few encounters had taught him a humbling lesson about agony.

The toxic reaction the rock set off inside him was immediate and without mercy; its radiation attacked every part of his body, shooting through his blood like hot fire and burrowing into his bones. His muscles pulsed with a deep twisting ache that seemed to hit him with unpredictable spasms of gut-wrenching pain, catching him off guard each time.

His entire equilibrium was completely shot, and at first, he would often blackout within minutes. His vision would spin like he’d just taken one hundred laps around the earth, and he’d finally known what it felt like to be sick, to vomit, to feel sweat dripping from his brow as his body burned up, trying to fight off the invading radiation like it was a flu or a virus.

As he stood there, feeling his body already begin to tremble as he pulled in a few laboured breaths; he wished he could say the effects had seriously lessened over the years. Sadly, although he’d learned how to manage the pain, how to draw on his strength reserves to push back against it’s weakening effects – the truth was, it was always still that same agony.

It always felt like torture.

Clark tried to push through the brain fog and unbearable sensations to think for a second. He could feel his legs beginning to wobble beneath him, letting him know it wouldn’t be long before he’d be unable to stand. Okay, they wanted to send a message to Lois. That message clearly involved hurting him… but did they intend to kill him? It was a possibility, but something told him they wouldn’t go to all the trouble of beating him in an alley if they just wanted him dead. The guy with the gun could easily have been simply instructed to take him out, and as far as they knew, Clark Kent would have been helpless to stop it.

As he took in the faces of each of the three cronies, glaring at him with eager menace, he realised he had only two choices.

He could fight back. It would take everything he had in his weakened state, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d pushed through the unbearable agony of kryptonite to defeat an enemy. In fact, he’d managed to get out of situations much worse than this, rising up against foes with far more power than a few goons and a gun.

But if he did that, he knew there was no doubt his escape would get back to their boss.

If this really was Luthor, there was no way he could risk that. Especially if he’d managed to get his hands on the DOD’s stockpile of kryptonite. The thought of what the man might do to the boys if he found out Lois’ children were also the sons of Superman…

No, as reluctant as he was to admit it, there was only one viable option.

He was going to have to take it.

Whatever beating they were planning, he was going to have to submit. It would be brutal, but he knew that once they were gone, his body would heal. He could lay low for a while at the farm, so no one could see the total lack of bruises and, their boss would simply believe that his plan had gone off without a hitch.

Yeah, this was going to hurt like hell – but at least his family would be safe.

The thug with the brass knuckles reached out and and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, yanking him so close to his face that he could smell the man’s bitter, smoky breath.

"My little brother’s still in jail ‘cause of you and your wife," he said, taking a deep breath like he was savouring the moment. "I’m gonna enjoy every second of this."

Clark could see the hatred in the man’s eyes as he delivered the first heavy blow to his torso, just above the abdomen. The wind was immediately knocked out of him, and his body reacted instinctively; grunting as he bent forwards and dropping to his knees. He struggled to breathe, but not just from the vicious punch. The continued presence of kryptonite sent searing pain coursing through him, seizing the muscles in his chest and throat tightly and making him fight for every in breath.  

Now that he could mask his response to the kryptonite as simply his reaction to the vicious beating, Clark let go of the deep groan he had been supressing, allowing it to tear up from his core.

"Get him further into the alley, we don’t want anyone hearing him and coming over to investigate," he heard the woman demand, and a rough hand grabbed his jacket collar.

Before he knew what was happening, he was being pulled further into the darkness, his legs dragging across the damp concrete. The man with the brass knuckles threw him roughly into the dumpster, and he tumbled to the floor beside it, the smell of garbage adding to his growing nausea. He started to dry heave as he tried to lift his body off the already nasty bruise forming at his side.

"Geez, Kent," the guy said, balling his hand into a fist once more. "I barely touched you. You’re going to have to pull yourself together if you want to survive what comes next."

"You don’t have to do this," Clark tried one last time, but he knew it was pointless.

They weren’t going to stop.

"I know I don’t have to," the man retorted, leaning down towards him. "I want to."

He hoisted him up and delivered another punch to his side so hard Clark crashed back against the alley wall, his shoulder exploding with pain where he landed. Before he had time to recover, the metal covered fist struck him again, and he tumbled to the ground in a heap once more. With every disarming blow, he felt himself losing his battle of wills against the kryptonite’s effects, and his back arched painfully against another jolt of pain.

"I thought he’d be a bit tougher than this," the tall man said with seeming disgust.  

The man with the gun walked around his defenceless form, and Clark suddenly felt the impact of a metal studded boot at his other side. He yelped at what both felt and sounded like a rib cracking, and his body curled in on itself in a helpless attempt to prevent further harm.

The goons delivered blow after blow, seemingly on a merciless mission to make sure no part of his body was left undamaged. Clark could only grit his teeth against the continued beating, reminding himself over and over again that the pain he felt was temporary.

It would be over soon. He would heal.

The man with the gun stepped back, and Clark wondered for second whether they were done; until he felt someone grabbing his shirt collar and lifting him up. He peered at the man through blurry vision, unable to even identify which of his attackers it was. Despite his vulnerability, he tried to at least offer a defiant expression in return, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of seeing him look as defeated as he felt.

"Can’t be leaving that pretty face untouched now, can we," the man said, before drawing back his hand and punching his brass knuckled fist right into Clark’s nose.

His whole face felt like it exploded and his vision flashed with violent bolts of lightning. A sharp pain radiated from his nose, and he could feel something warm and went flowing down his face, making it impossible to breath. It took him a moment to process that it must be his own blood.

"Dammit," he heard the guy say as he dropped him roughly back down to the ground. ‘Kent’s glasses cut me."

"Well why didn’t you take them off, you idiot," the woman barked at him, bending down to kneel at Clark’s side and reaching out to remove his glasses.

His hands flew up instinctively, a jolt of panic coursing through him as he weakly tried to bat her away.

"Believe me Mr Kent," the woman said in a sickeningly soft voice, "You're better off not being able to see what’s coming next."

Clark couldn’t respond. He couldn’t do anything as his bent frames were lifted from his face. He just hoped the damage they’d already done was enough to disguise him from recognition.

The two men returned to their beating, kicking and pounding him relentlessly until his world was nothing but pain. He was only barely holding back the growing urge to beg for mercy.

Clark held on to Lois’ image in his mind, his incredible sons, his friends – knowing that as endless as it felt, he was going to be home with them soon. That this would all be over, just a distant memory he’d look back at before too long and just be grateful he made it through.

"C’mon, it’s time," he heard one of the men say.

Suddenly, the seemingly never-ending stream of attack came to an end. Clark lay there, unable to move, unable to speak. One of his eyes was completely swollen shut, so he could only squint up at them with his one good eye. The guy with the gun finally tucked his weapon behind his back. He knew he had no need for it any more.

Clark was utterly broken.

He spluttered a cough, lifting his head just enough to spit out a pool of blood, not wanting to even think about where it had come from. His whole mouth tasted like metal. He just kept reminding himself… his healing would kick in as soon as they were gone. This was only temporary. It would be over soon.

Surely this was enough of a message.

Clark spotted blurry movement about him, and he tried to focus on what they were doing now. He watched in horror as the woman pulled out a knife, with a blade that glowed a familiar sickly green. He tried to blink, praying he was just so beaten that he was delirious; but the increased agony of kryptonite’s presence told him he wasn’t wrong.

"Wait… uh… you don’t…" he gasped, struggling to breath, let alone speak. Half of his ribs felt like they were broken now, and more than one seemed to be pressing uncomfortably against his lungs, sending sharp hot pain shooting through him every time he sucked in even the tiniest bit of air.

The woman knelt down next to him and stroked a hand through his hair, cooing softly in an almost maternal tone that sent a shiver down Clark’s spine. Her tender approach unnerved him more than the relentless beating.

"Don’t fight it, Mr Kent," she whispered. "It’ll all be over soon… and if Superman finds you before your wife does, he’ll be in for a little surprise."

She plunged the blade into Clark’s abdomen with clear force, but he barely even felt it. A strangled sound escaped him that he was sure was in response to the blade sinking into his skin; but shock had finally taken hold, pulling him away from his body’s continued trauma. His shaky hands flew instinctively down to the area of injury, hovering uselessly around the blade as blood began seeping out, soaking through his flannel shirt.

"Let’s go," she called out to the rest of the goons, and they finally headed out of the alley, leaving Clark completely alone in the darkness.

He’d been willing desperately for them to leave when he’d stupidly thought they’d be taking the green kryptonite with them. Now a new layer of fear hit him as he realised, he was completely alone, his body fighting to stay alive.

He needed to get that knife away from him.

The tug of unconsciousness was pulling at him, but he fought against it, drawing on every bit of strength he had to try focus on the task at hand. He knew that normally the advice for stab wounds was to leave the weapon in until you could get proper medical attention; but this situation wasn’t exactly normal. The weapon lodged inside him was made of the very mineral whose radiation would slowly kill him. He could feel it’s burning pain coursing through him in waves, each one causing the black to push in further, threatening to take him under completely.

He had to pull it out, or he was going to die here on this cold, damp floor.

He wrapped both hands around the handle and tried to pull, but his fingers were slick with blood, and he couldn’t get a good enough grip. Trembling, he wiped his hands down his shirt, trying to get them as clean as possible. As some of the blood was removed, he could see his skin was turning a sickly pale green.

Another wave of pain crashed through him, and he held his breathe, widening his eyes and forcing himself to stay alert.

He couldn’t give in.

He had to fight.

His fingers curled around the handle once more and he pulled, gasping as he felt the knife shift ever so slightly, but the agony that accompanied it was too much for his already weakened body. His arms lost all their strength, and they flopped uselessly to his side.

As much as he’d hoped to avoid it, he knew he needed help.  

Clark managed to fight the pull of unconsciousness back for just a few seconds more, reaching a fumbling hand into his pocket and pulling out his phone. Luckily his wife’s number was on speed dial, so he only had to muster up the strength to press one button.

As he listened to the sound of the ringtone, he felt his body surrender. The sound of Lois’ voice on her voicemail was like a lullaby as he drifted off into the soft blackness, remembering the love he felt for her so strongly. From the moment he met her, and every day since, her light had been a guiding beacon in his life, a source of strength even greater than the sun.

He grabbed onto that strength to utter two words before he gave in to the black.

Diner.

Alley.

Chapter Text

"You're going to tell me you're sorry."

His words seemed more like an observation than a question. Lois knew Lex was just trying to get under her skin, and she desperately didn’t want him to succeed; but there was no way in hell she was going to apologise to that monster. 

Had he really come all the way to her farm, just to demand that?

"Is that what you're here for? An apology?" she asked incredulously. "If you think I’m going to stand here and…"

"I was innocent!" he practically screamed, cutting her off abruptly. "17 years of my life, gone! And you think I want words?"

Lois was taken aback by his outburst. Raising his voice was something he’d have never done, back when he still wore the mask of altruistic businessman; it shook her more than she let on. She could see the unfiltered rage dancing behind his eyes like a hot flame, making it crystal clear… that pretence was long gone.

"My daughter, she was 14. Now she won't talk to me. Do you think your words can fix that?" he continued, his inability to take accountability for his own actions almost laughable.

"That's enough," her dad demanded with a threatening tone.

She knew it couldn’t be easy for him to just stand there and let Luthor tirade at her. Especially on her own front porch. Especially after everything they’d been through that year.

"Shut your mouth!" Lex spat back at him. He clearly didn’t view her dad as a threat, despite knowing full well he was a four-star General with the US military.

Sam took a step forwards, his reddening face indicating he was on the brink of losing his cool, but she held her hand out, blocking his movement and signalling for him to hold back. She needed to keep things from escalating. If she just let Lex say whatever he wanted to say, eventually he would leave.

So, she kept her mouth shut and her expression neutral as he continued his scolding accusations.

"Your words are what put me away. What I want is to never have to read your words again."

"So, what, you're asking me to retire?" she asked, her face belaying her utter disbelief.

He seemed to slip immediately back into the casual confidence of a few moments before effortlessly, his body language as nonchalant as if he were literally shrugging.

"Not asking. I'm telling you what needs to happen. How it happens, I don't give a damn."

"Look, I may have been wrong about what happened to Moxie, but I wasn't wrong about what you are. You’re a monster Lex, and you deserve to be locked away for the rest of your life. I may not have the evidence to prove it yet… but I promise you, I will. You coming to my home, demanding I give up journalism isn’t going to change that. In fact, all you’ve done is give me grounds for a restraining order."

At her last statement, she couldn’t hide the glare of challenge behind her eyes. Lex might be coming across unhinged, but it was also sort of desperate. What had he hoped to achieve, just showing up at her farm the very day he was released? She had her dad beside her - an extremely credible witness - and his demands, as aggressively as he was making them, were basically empty.

He needed to know he couldn’t just show up here whenever he pleased attempting to intimidate her or her family. He needed to know she wasn’t someone he could bully into doing his bidding, that she wasn’t scared of him.  

At her defiant statement, Lex’s face shifted into a look of amusement.

"It's easy to be brave, with Superman and the DOD watching out for you," he said, side-eyeing Sam with a smile.

"You need to leave. Now," her dad ordered through gritted teeth, taking a more obvious step forwards and glaring at him with menace she didn’t often see on his face.

Lex’s eyes were alive with that primal evil that his stay in prison had clearly unleashed. She watched anxiously as he locked his dad in a silent staring match, seemingly delighted by the opportunity for a dance of wills with an equally stubborn opponent.

Breaking the tension of the moment, a car headlight suddenly lit up Lex’s twisted features. Lois turned her attention to the road leading up to the farm as a black SUV pulled up, just a few metres from her home. The windows were blacked out, obscuring any view of the driver or potential passengers.

"Well, looks like my ride's here," Lex said casually, straightening his jacket.

She half expected him to extend his hand for a handshake; the mix of pretend pleasantries and psychotic outbursts from him so irrational and unpredictable.  

"Don't ever come back," Lois emphasised, masking her relief.

"I really think you'd better reconsider retiring Miss Lane," he said with an air of false sympathy. "Who knows who might get hurt if you don’t."

She simply glared back at him, tired of his vague threats and willing him to just leave.

As he started making his way down the porch steps, a man that Lois didn’t recognise stepped out of the SUV, walking towards Lex with a small item in his hand. It seemed to be wrapped in some kind of handkerchief, and he cradled it like it was fragile. The man handed the object to Lex, leaning in close to whisper a short message in his ear, and his boss simply nodded like he’d expected nothing less.

Lois whole body tensed as Lex turned around, retracing the few steps back up to the porch. Something about the whole thing felt so staged, and she suddenly wondered if their earlier conversation was part of a more sinister plan.

Once he was close enough for the porch light to illuminate his approach, she could see smears of dark red all over the handkerchief.

Was that… blood?

"My man tells me he found these. Just lying on the side of the road outside the diner in town," he said, his mock concern stirring up more fear than his earlier screamed threats ever did.

He gently unfolded the handkerchief, revealing a pair of broken, bloody glasses, and handed them to her; a look of deep satisfaction on his face.

"They look at lot like your husband’s, don’t they?"

Lois wanted to spout some kind of retort, to continue to show him that earlier defiance; but all she could do was stare at the glasses he’d placed in her hand, blinking with shock.

They were Clark’s.

There was no doubt in her mind. They didn’t just look like his, they were his. She turned them over in her hand, confirming the small letters ‘CK’ etched into the side, and her stomach twisted at the sight of the cracked glass and bent frames.

Lex gave her a cold look of finality; like his intention was now complete. Wordlessly, he walked around the side of the SUV, opening the door and briefly pausing for one final word.

"Oh, and tell Superman, he should probably be careful too," he added, like he’d just remembered a trivial piece of news. "I heard some nasty criminals have procured some Green Kryptonite on the black market. Who knows where he might run into the stuff."

He gave her one last look of smug triumph. A look she’d so often seen in their encounters in Metropolis, back when winning was all he was used to.

A look she hoped she’d never see again.

With that he climbed inside the SUV and closed the door. Lois watched the vehicle drive away, making sure it was out of sight before finally turning to face her dad.

"Are they really…?" he asked, trailing off when he saw the look on her face.

She knew the answer to his question was written all over it.

The door to the farmhouse clattered open and both boys rushed out onto the porch, their flustered and frantic expressions making it clear Jordan had heard everything and relayed it to his brother.

"Mom, I can hear dad’s heartbeat," Jordan said, panic evident in his voice. "But it doesn’t sound right, somethings wrong."

"He’s not responding to the ELT either," Jonathan added, holding up the seemingly useless device.

Lois knew that part all too well; her finger had been pressing the button of her own ELT ever since she’d laid eyes on Clark’s mangled glasses.

"Okay, let’s not panic. Let me try and call him," she rationalised, refusing to think the worst unless she had confirmation.

She reached for her phone, intending to dial Clark’s number; but there was a missed call from him, and a voicemail message notification in her inbox. Hope & fear coursed through her as she listened to the few rings and robotic message, before she finally heard her husband’s voice.

It was barely a whisper. He sounded broken, defeated… terrified. So weak he could only manage two words.

Diner. Alley.

She immediately grabbed for her keys, heading over to the truck without hesitation. She felt a mixture of terror and relief; knowing that what Luthor had alluded too was true, but also that he was wasn’t dead.

She could still save him.

"Mom, where are you going?" Jonathan cried out, both boys and her father following her over to the truck.

She looked up into her sons’ eyes, confusion and desperation swirling between them and pulling at her to provide some kind of comfort – but she couldn’t. Not yet.

"Both of you, stay put," she said, replacing her phone in her jacket pocket and giving her dad a pleading look as she opened driver’s side door. "Please, make sure they don’t go anywhere."

"What’s going on? Whose message was that," he asked, frustrated by her attempt to leave without filling him in.

"It was Clark," she explained, and she could see the relief on both boys faces. They didn’t need to know how bad he’d sounded. "All that matters is I know where he is, and I need to go and get him."

"Let me call the DOD, I can have a team there in minutes," Sam suggested, already reaching for his own phone.

"No!" she exclaimed, much to everyone’s shock. "We can’t involve the DOD. Look, the only way there would be blood on Clark’s glasses is if they attacked him as Clark… but he was weakened somehow. With what Luthor said about the stolen kryptonite, I’m guessing that’s what’s keeping him from coming home."

Sam nodded, reluctantly catching on. ‘His secret might end up being exposed.’

"Who cares!" Jon cried out in frustration, the same way he had just a few weeks before, when it was her life he was scared they were going to lose. "Surely it’s better he’s alive and his secret’s out than…"

He couldn’t finish his sentence; and she was partly relieved. She couldn’t afford to think like that. She was going to find him and get rid of the kryptonite. He’d be home, fully recovered, and making breakfast by morning.

"At least let me try the Irons," her dad added, not waiting for her approval before dialling and lifting the phone to his ear.

"Let me go, I can get to him quicker than anyone," Jordan pleaded, his eyes wide and chin set in that genetically inherited stubbornness.

"Jordan, no. I don’t want you going anywhere near kryptonite, and neither would your father. Besides, it’s too dangerous for you to be flying over Smallville right now, with half the military out looking for you."

Sam cursed under his breathe, dropping his phone and shaking his head at her in defeat. Help wasn't coming from John Henry. It was up to her. 

"But it doesn’t affect me like it does dad," Jordan protested, looking at her like she was the one being irrational and reckless.

"We don’t know how it affects you yet Jordan, and anyway, the point is it still does affect you. Look… I don’t have time to stand around and argue about this, I’m going to go and get your dad – just stay here. Call me if you hear anything."

"Mom…" Jonathan said simply, his voice cracking.

The helplessness and fear on both of their faces was too much, and she forced herself to look away, jamming the keys into the ignition. She turned back to towards them one last time as the truck lunged to life.

"I’m going to bring him home," she insisted, hoping her stubborn confidence would provide some kind of reassurance.

She didn’t wait for anyone to utter another word before putting her foot to the floor and sending dirt kicking up as she pulled away. Guilt tugged at her for leaving her children in distress, but she had to force it aside, speeding down the country road with a single-minded purpose.

She had to get to Clark.

***

Lois pulled up outside Vicky May’s as quietly as she could, fighting against every urgent instinct in her body to do so. The diner’s lights were out and the shutters down, clearly long closed for the night by now. There were no obvious signs of a disturbance from what she could see through the truck windshield, but the alley to it’s side was completely shrouded in darkness.

She reached into the glove box, grabbing the specially made lead lined bag her dad had given her a long time ago, when removing kryptonite from Superman’s presence was a much more common occurrence. Hastily, she jammed it into her pocket, jumping out of the truck and heading for the alley.

Lois looked up and down the street briefly before she entered, checking she wasn’t being watched, and then stepped forward into the shadows. She held up her phone as a torch, scanning every inch of her surroundings. Garbage and overturned trash cans seemed to be strewn about the place, but she couldn’t see any of Clark’s attackers. In fact, there seemed to be no signs of life at all.

"Clark," she said in as loud a whisper as she dared, not wanting to attract any attention from the handful of people who lived in flats above the high street shops.

She was met with silence; a silence that gripped her, filling her with dread. She headed further into the alley, not giving much thought to any potential dangers to herself. She couldn’t afford to be worrying about that right now. Clark was hurt… she just had to find him, and get him away from whatever kryptonite was preventing him from getting up and flying home.

Her torch lit up a patch on the ground that looked darker than the rest, and she bent down to examine what seemed to be a dark red fluid. She touched her fingers to it, lifting them up to confirm what she already knew to be true.

It was blood... but was it Clark’s blood?

"Clark?" she repeated, this time louder and more insistent.

She stopped in her tracks when she heard the faintest moan. It was coming from behind a huge red dumpster just a few steps further. Quickly she rushed over, skidding to a stop and searching behind it. As she scanned her torch over the ground once more, the light finally fell on a set of jean covered legs.  

Lois’s hand flew to her mouth instinctively as she gasped at the sight of her husband, sprawled out on the cold, damp floor. His swollen face was almost unrecognisable, and his breaths were wheezy and shallow. Blood soaked through his flannel shirt, from a wound to his abdomen; the blade still partially embedded in his flesh.

From the bloody fingerprints all over the handle, it looked as though Clark had tried to remove the knife himself, but he hadn’t been able to get it out all the way. A green glow emanated from the blade; a glow she had to assume was the reason her husband wasn’t able to recover from whatever beating he’d tolerated in his weakened state.

She dropped down beside him, reaching out a hand to touch him – but hesitated for a moment, unsure where to even place it. Every inch of him seemed to be covered in bruises and lacerations. There were various cuts to his face, his bottom lip was split, and there was a nasty gash across his left eyebrow – all with dried trails of blood that travelled down his neck.

She let her hand settle on his brow, stroking his hair softly and being careful not to cause him any further pain.

"Clark? Clark, can you hear me?"

She could hear the desperation in her voice, needing him to wake up, to confirm that he was okay. That he had enough strength for what she knew she was going to have to do next.

The sight of him gently stirring caused her eyes to sting with relieved tears.

"Lois?" he whispered; his right eye peeking open to confirm it was really her. His left eye was too purple and swollen to manage even a twitch.

"It’s me Clark, I’m here," she assured him, scanning over and around him for any sign of further kryptonite in the vicinity. Thankfully, it looked like it was just the blade.

"Gotta… get it out…" he spluttered out, followed by a series of pained coughs.

"I know babe, it’s okay," she confirmed her understanding. After all, she’d already been thinking the same thing. "I’m gonna get it out of you, you’ve just gotta try not to make too much noise, okay?"

He nodded weakly, closing his good eye again, like just keeping it open was taking too much effort.

"Just… hold my hand."

She laced her fingers through one of his hands, ignoring the feel of still damp blood, and he gripped it weakly. His skin was icy cold. The sensation sent a jolt of panic through her that only added to the urgency of what she was about to do.

"Okay on the count of three," she instructed him, her voice surprisingly calm considering the terror coursing through her. "One, two, three…"

He held his breath and clenched his teeth for what he knew was coming.

Lois pulled the knife out in one swift motion; as quickly as she could, while also trying not to do anymore damage. Clark fought back a scream, clenching his jaw painfully before finally settling for a low groan instead.

Blood oozed from the wound, and she quickly unravelled her scarf from around her neck. ‘Here, hold this right here,’ she instructed, placing Clark’s hand over his injury. Thankfully he was still thinking clearly enough to apply pressure to it, so she could focus on getting rid of the kryptonite weapon. Lois pulled the lead bag from her back pocket, placing the knife carefully inside and closing it tightly.

The sound of Clark’s sigh of relief was music to her ears.

"Okay, it’s almost over babe," she soothed, returning her hand to his hair.

With the other, she lifted the now mostly soaked through scarf, waiting expectantly for the wound to heal… but nothing happened.

"Clark?" she called out as she noticed his head flop away from her hand lifelessly. "Clark!"

Despite his wounds, she slapped lightly at his cheek, desperate to keep him conscious. His body had been through a huge trauma, and apparently even the removal of the kryptonite wasn’t enough for his energy reserves to kick in as they usually would. Who knows how much blood he’d lost, lying there alone in that alley.

All because Lex wanted to get back at her.

Lois felt fresh tears cascading down her cheeks. She briefly considered going back on her earlier conviction and calling for Jordan’s help, but she couldn’t be sure Clark’s lack of healing wasn’t because there was still some kryptonite present. Or even worse, that there was some of the toxic substance inside of him, making his very body potentially poisonous to his son.

She could see his chest gently rising and falling, and listened carefully to his strained, wheezing breath. It was a horrible sound, but at least it confirmed he was breathing. She could still do this. She just needed to get him home. If there was kryptonite inside him, they had a much better chance of removing it there than she did in this alley.

Gently, she set his head back down against the ground and rushed back out into the street. She looked around frantically, once again checking no one was a witness to her actions, and then got back into the truck, quietly pulling in as close to the alley entrance as she could. She mounted the sidewalk, making sure she would be as shielded from view as possible.

Lois dashed back to Clark’s unconscious body. She glanced down at the now exposed wound, kicking herself for not bringing a first aid kit with her… they’d just, never needed it before. With his fast recovery from kryptonite, it was usually pointless. She wrapped the bloody scarf into a make-shift bandage as securely as she could, before slipping her arms under his shoulders and dragging him towards the vehicle.

It wasn’t easy.

He weighed a lot more than he looked, and Lois was still weak from her cancer treatment. The journey of only a few metres seemed to take forever, taking every bit of stubborn energy she had. Once she reached the truck door, she set him down, letting herself lean against it for a second and gathering some strength.

She was exhausted… but she wasn’t going to stop until she got him home.

Lois yanked the truck door open and lifted him up by the shoulders again. She considered the best way to get him inside, deciding to sit back on the seat and then yank him up, pulling him on top of her as she went. With a great deal of effort, she managed to wrangle his lifeless body into the truck, laying there panting for a moment, and trying not to look at how pale his skin was becoming.

Okay, now she just had to roll out from under him somehow… She pushed his body against the seat, holding him as still as she could as she slid herself out from under, then landed heavily on the floor of the truck. Finally she was free to manoeuvre into the driver’s seat, where the keys were waiting ready in the ignition.

She reached up to wipe the sweat from her brow, but only succeeding in smearing blood all over her face.

This time not even bothering to check if anyone had seen her ordeal, she started up the truck and drove out of town with much less regard for stealth than before.

Once she hit the country road, she pressed her feet to the floor, focused on nothing but making the short journey back to the farm even shorter.

Chapter Text

Jordan paced anxiously back and forth, aware of his brother’s irritated glare but unable to stop. It was the only thing he could do to get out some frustration, to tame the growing urge to openly defy his parents for the second time that day. His mom was clearly being insane not letting him help rescue his dad… but he didn’t want to make the situation between them any worse.

He was already wracked with guilt as it was.

After all, it was his fault his dad had gone to the diner that night. His mom said he’d gone to pick up some of her favourite tea, but Jordan could see they still had plenty of boxes under the sink… it was obvious she’d really sent him out of the house so he could cool off.

Because of him.

This couldn’t be happening. His dad couldn’t just die in the middle of the worst fight they ever had. He hadn’t even had a chance to talk to him, to explain what was really going on that day. The initial aftermath of his public appearance had felt so much like an interrogation, with his mom, dad and grandad all lining up to pass judgement on him; he’d responded in a way he wasn’t proud of. To be honest, he wasn’t sure he even understood it himself. Sometimes he just got… defensive; he dug his heels in, even when he didn’t mean what he was saying.

Everything had gotten so confused lately – with his Dad, with Jonathan, with Sarah. He’d somehow managed to piss off everyone he cared about, and the worst thing was, he wasn’t sure how to stop. It’s like his emotions were constantly dialled up to the max, and he was so, so angry. Like, all the time. He couldn’t hold it in.

"Bro, can you please stop doing that?" Jon burst out finally, lifting up his hands in an exasperated gesture. "You are driving me insane."

"What, I’m supposed to just sit there, like you?" Jordan bit back.

"Oh, yeah, and pacing is really helping save the day!"

"I COULD save the day if everyone would just stop treating me like a kid and let me make my own decisions," Jordan found himself yelling.  

"HEY!"

He jumped at the sound of his grandad’s barked word, looking down at his feet rather than meeting the general’s disapproving expression.

"You are going nowhere kiddo, get that through your thick skull. I don’t care what powers you have; you are 16 years old, and you need to respect your parents’ judgement."

Jordan sighed heavily. He was so tired of fighting with his family, tired of being the one in the doghouse all the time.

"I’m not going anywhere," he conceded. "I just… I don’t know what to do. I can hear them grandad. Dad’s really hurt, and mom’s freaking out. I think she had to pull something out of him… what if he dies and I could have done something?"

His grandad’s face softened, and he saw what he hoped was understanding settle in. It was so hard for anyone to really get it though. His dad was the only one who knew what it was like to hear the things he could hear.

He needed him. He couldn’t do any of this without him.

"I know this is hard Jordan, but your mom’s bringing him back, okay? Trust me," his grandad reassured, placing a hand on his shoulder and glancing over at his brother. "Both of you. He’s been through worse jams than this, and he always pulls through."

"Any word from John Henry?" Jon asked, nodding towards the phone in Sam’s hand.

He and Jon had both called and texted Natalie a hundred times, but their messages were still showing as unread.

Sam shook his head, his jaw tensing slightly. "No. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about though."

Their grandad was a four-star general for the US military; but he was still terrible at lying to his grandkids. Besides, something had to be up with Natalie and Mr Irons. Jordan couldn’t even find their heartbeats. He gave his brother a knowing look and he just rolled his eyes in return. They were both pretty used to being treated with kid gloves by now; coddled with false promises every time they were in a crisis.

Why didn’t their parents get that they couldn’t shelter them from this kind of stuff anymore?

"What about the DOD?" Jon asked. "Do they know what happened to the kryptonite?"

"Apparently there was a break in at one of our 7734 facilities last night," Sam filled them in with a sigh. "They are still assessing the situation."

"Do you think that’s why Mr Irons and Natalie aren’t answering?"

"He would have been the first person alerted to any security breach," Sam confirmed, but his tone indicated he wasn’t up for further conjecture. "You’ll know as soon as I hear anything more."

Jordan let out another frustrated sigh, leaning against one of the kitchen chairs and hanging his head forwards. What the hell was the point in having all these powers if he wasn’t allowed to use them to help save the people he loved?

He listened out for his mom again, picking up a cacophony of grunts and groans as she struggled with something, his dad’s wheezing breath interrupted by occasional whimpers and gasps of pain. Suddenly, his head whipped up at the sound of his mom finally starting the truck’s engine.

"She’s got him!" Jordan announced with relief, "Mom's on her way home."

Jon stood up excitedly, already looking towards the front door. "Is dad okay?"

"I… I don’t know," Jordan stammered, not sure how to interpret all the concerning sounds. It’s not like he had the full picture here.

He looked up at his grandad pleadingly, hoping he might have some guidance on what to do. There must be something that would make them feel a bit less… useless.

"Okay, okay…" Sam thought for a second before instructing. "Let’s get everything together that we might need. You guys have a first aid kit at home?"

Jon dashed over to the cabinets under the sink and grabbed the emergency kit tucked away behind the pipes.

"Here," he said, handing it over, "I don’t get it though. Why does he even need a first aid kit? Why hasn’t he recovered already? I thought he was supposed to heal as soon as the kryptonite was gone."

"Maybe… something’s still inside him?" Jordan offered, despite the thought turning his stomach.

"We don’t know exactly what’s happened, but we’re going to figure that out just as soon as he’s home," Sam assured him, grabbing a mixing bowl and some dishcloths and heading into the living room. "Jordan, can you grab any clean towels you have upstairs? Jon, you can help me make up the sofa."

Jordan just stood there frozen for a second, his heart pounding as he listened to his mom repeatedly calling out his dad’s name as she sped home, telling him to hold on, telling him he had to fight.

"Please, please dad," Jordan willed silently. "Just hold on."

He broke himself out of the panic induced paralysis and dashed upstairs to the bathroom, grabbing every towel he could find, as well as a few items he thought might be useful from the bathroom cabinet.

He just hoped it would all be enough.

If his dad died tonight, he would never forgive himself.

***

With every second glance, Lois checked Clark’s condition in the rearview mirror. His skin was still deathly pale, and his face was covered in blood mingled sweat. The raspy sound of his breath, as concerning as it was, felt like a lifeline to her as she flew down the country road at an extremely reckless speed.  

As long as he was breathing, there was still time.

She tried to ignore the images floating through her mind like waking nightmares. The sheer irony of him dying after everything they’d been through that year, after everything she’d survived – it was just too much. Blurry cornfields sped by in her peripheries as she drove on into the darkness, her foot still slammed to the floor.

With no concept of how long the journey had taken, she finally arrived at the farm, sliding the truck sideways and jumping out before it even had a chance to fully stop.

"Dad!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, thankful for the first time that night to not have to lower her volume or try and conceal the situation.

The farmhouse door flew open, and her father raced towards her, the boys close behind him. As soon as she saw their faces, an irrational protective surge overwhelmed her, and she suddenly flung her arm in front of the truck’s passenger side door.  

"Boys, go back inside," she demanded.

From the already horrified looks on their faces, she knew she must look pretty messed up herself right now. Her hands and clothes were soaked with blood, and she was sure she’d smudged some of it across her face in the earlier struggle.

"Mom! Don’t be insane, let us help!" Jon practically shrieked.

She turned to her dad, her heart twisting with conflict and urgency. She didn’t want the boys to see their dad like this, but when she thought about how hard it had been to get him into the truck… she knew they needed all the help they could get to transport him to the sofa without doing any further damage.

"Fine, just… look, your dad’s really hurt, okay," she explained, hoping she could in some way prepare them, "But he’ll be fine as soon as his healing kicks in."

"Why hasn’t it already?" Sam asked.

"I don’t know exactly. I pulled a kryptonite blade out of him, I thought I got it all out, but maybe..."

"Let’s just… get him inside. We can figure out what to do from there," Sam suggested, and Lois just nodded softly.

Reluctantly, she opened the door to the truck, knowing nothing could have really prepared any of them for the sight of Clark’s badly beaten body sprawled out on the front seat.  

"Oh my god," Jon breathed, his brother gasping loudly behind him.

Their faces contorted in horror, but Jon seemed to push his initial reaction aside, gritting his teeth and setting his expression to steely determination.

He looked so much like his father.

Jordan gasped again, but this time she realised the pained sound was more than just shock or concern. She eyed him anxiously as he backed away from the truck wincing, his hand flying up to his stomach.

"Jordan?" she asked, dread settling in again as she recognised the signs of kryptonite exposure.

"I… I can feel it… there’s still some kryptonite inside him," he admitted despairingly.

"Okay, get upstairs, right now, you hear me?" she demanded. He opened his mouth like he was about to protest but she jumped in, "I know you want to help Jordan, but getting yourself sick and giving us a second person to worry about is only going to make things worse, okay?"

Jordan nodded reluctantly, and she watched him jog back up to the house, his movements slow and awkward from the lingering affect of whatever small piece of kryptonite remained. Yeah, he might have survived that kryptonite blaster to the chest, but he was most definitely not immune. He hovered in the open doorway as he took one last mournful look towards them before ducking inside.

"Okay, you got that arm?" Sam instructed behind her, and she turned to see her dad and Jonathan already lifting Clark football style, an arm over each of their shoulders. "Right, let’s go."

With some effort, but a lot less than she’d exerted herself earlier that evening, they managed to transport her still unconscious husband towards the porch steps. She shook herself into action, racing ahead of them and opening the door. Once they were inside, she made sure the pathway to the sofa was as clear as possible, watching as they carried Clark awkwardly through the house, before heading back to the kitchen again. She ripped open one of the drawers, looking frantically for a sharp knife, but once she had the blade in her hand, doubt suddenly took hold.

Was digging around in her husband’s flesh with a kitchen knife really the best move here?

Lois bit her lip, briefly considering grabbing one of his Superman suits from the closet upstairs and getting her dad to contact the medical team at the DOD. Maybe it would be better to leave it to the professionals, be sure they didn’t somehow make the damage worse.

"LO-IS," her dad yelled from the other room, the urgent tone in his voice shaking away her doubts.

Clark didn’t have enough time to wait for a doctor.

The kryptonite needed to come out, now.

She dashed into the living room where Clark was now spread out on the sofa, somehow looking even more pale now they were inside. Sam inspected the still oozing wound, while Jonathan gently placed a pillow behind his dad’s head, in a slow, tender gesture.

"You’ve done great, sweetie," she told him as she moved beside him, reaching out and stroking her free hand through his hair – but as soon as he caught sight of the knife at her side, all attempt at comfort was gone.

Her heart broke as she saw the swirl of emotions pulling him in every direction. As much as both of her sons struggled with standing on the sidelines, wanting to have a more active role every time their family came up against some life or death crisis - they were still only sixteen.

No sixteen-year-old should have to go through this.

"Do you think you could go and check on your brother for me?"

She could see him almost resisting, but a flicker of relief appeared too, like a small part of him was grateful to be handing over to the adults. He stood up, wiping his blood smeared hands down the front of his hoodie, and taking a few tentative steps back. He gave his dad one last lingering look before turning around and heading up the stairs.

Lois took a moment to breathe as a wave of dizziness suddenly hit her hard, the night’s stress and the earlier physical effort finally hitting her all at once.

"Hey, pumpkin, you, okay?" her dad asked, his voice thick with concern.

She felt herself swaying on her feet, and he rushed over, reaching out an arm to hold her steady and scanning her from head to toe.

"I’m fine," she said, much more aggressively than she’d intended. "It’s just a head rush, we need to focus on Clark."

As if to emphasize her point, Clark suddenly stirred, his body tensing against a fresh wave of pain.  

Lois winced at his strangled groan, gripping the handle of the knife more tightly, and her dad finally realised what she was holding. He gave her a cautious look as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

"We have to get it out of him," she explained, the statement coming out surprisingly flat.  

Was she in shock?

"Okay, why don’t you just hand me the knife?" Sam said slowly, holding out his hand.

"Dad…" she began to protest, but he raised both eyebrows insistently.

"You think you’ve got more experience patching up wounds than me?" Sam reasoned. "I’ve tended to injuries much worse than this, in much worse conditions, and I’ve got the Christmas cards to prove it."

Lois simply nodded, his reasoning clearly beating out her own irrational instincts. The weight of the night’s events had clearly taken a toll on her, and she was barely thinking straight. She handed the knife over in surrender, grateful she wasn’t handling this alone anymore.  

"You just keep him steady," Sam said, nodding towards were Clark lay, still twitching from the last surge of pain.

She took a seat on the floor next to his head, stroking her hand through his hair once again. Her father pulled out some disinfectant from the first aid kit and doused the blade in its contents.

"Clark, I’m here," she said softly, hoping all the love she felt could be heard in her voice.

He breathed out a long soft sigh that ended with one word: "Lois."

"I’m right here babe," she repeated, reaching for his hand as she explained the next part. "You’ve gotta hold on for me, okay? Dad’s going to try and get the last of the kryptonite out, but it’s going to hurt."

Clark responded with a simple guttural grunt, and she could see him tensing in preparation. She took his actions as wordless permission for them to proceed with their make-shift surgery.

Lois gave her dad one last desperate look as he held the knife over Clark’s injury, before turning her gaze away, focusing all her effort on reassuring her husband and stroking her fingers along a small patch of unbruised cheek.

His sudden shriek of pain let her know her dad had begun.

"It’s okay babe, it’ll be over soon," she soothed, fresh tears pooling as she watched his valiant attempt to stay still, despite the clear agony of her father cutting into his flesh.

"I think I feel it!" she heard her dad exclaim.

Clark’s eyes rolled back into his head, and she felt the hand that had been gripping her so tightly a moment ago, go suddenly limp.

"Hurry!"

She realised, with a level of dread the night had somehow not quite reached, that this time - there was no reassuring wheezing sound.

He wasn’t breathing.

"Clark!" she screeched at him, grabbing his face and shaking him desperately. "Clark, no! Stay with me."

"I got it," her dad confirmed behind her, holding up the tiny shard of kryptonite in triumph. "Where’s that bag?"

She yanked the thing out of her pocket once more and lunged it at him. "Quickly, please! And get the bag out of here."

Logically she knew it made no difference whether the lead bag was in the room or buried in the cornfield, but she didn’t want to take the chance it might somehow still be hurting him. As her dad disappeared, she stared anxiously at the still oozing wound in Clark’s abdomen, her fists clenched at her side.

"C’mon Clark, you can do this."

Lois glared at the wound, willing it to heal, demanding that it heal. The kryptonite was gone now; it was time for one of those miracles she’d seen his body perform countless times.

To her dismay, nothing happened.

She leaned even closer, a surge of defiance coming up within her. This was not happening. He was not leaving her like this.

"Hey, you need to come back to me, you hear me? We’ve been through too much, survived too much, for one of Luthor’s goons to take you away from me now," she pleaded with him, her words strained with urgency. "You are stronger than this, Clark. Your sons need you. I need you."

Her breath hitched as she choked back a sob.

"Please come back to me," she whispered.

Lois held her breath, as though creating silence might somehow push him to to fill it. Every fibre of her being willed him to recover, her need so strong she was surprised it didn’t cause him to heal instantly.  

But still nothing happened.  

"Mom?" she heard Jonathan’s tentative query.

She twisted around to see him hovering at the bottom of the stairs, his brother peeking out from the top, watching through the railing with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"It’s okay boys, it’s going to be okay…" she reassured them instinctively, but her breathless voice had lost all conviction.

"Lois…" her dad said delicately. It reminded her of the way a paramedics energy shifted, right before they called time of death.

She simply blinked back at him, shaking her head in sheer refusal to accept the meaning of his defeated tone.

The world around her slowed to a standstill as fear and grief gripped her heart. She could hear the ticking of the clock on their mantel, somehow now both impossible slow and yet so much louder. Her sons’ footsteps pounded down the stairs, their cries distant echoes as she turned back towards Clark’s still and lifeless form.

The last ebbing light of hope began to flicker out in her chest.

And then he breathed.

A strangled, wheezing, spluttering breath - but a breath just the same. The sharp sound seemed to kick everything around her back to normal speed and volume, and she gasped out a breath she hadn’t even realised she’d still been holding, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.

"Oh my god, Clark!" she cried out in relief, reaching out to stroke her hands down his face once again.

As she did, she noticed the swelling around his eye was immediately beginning to shrink. In just a few seconds, he was squinting both eyes up at her, his handsome features fully recognisable as the discoloration faded away.

She spun around at her dad’s gasp of awe, just in time to catch sight of the stab wound healing itself, skin growing over so perfectly not even a scar was left behind. A series of twisted, cracking sounds made her jump in surprise, and she stared in awe at Clark’s torso as his broken ribs repaired themselves.

Before she knew it, both boys were at her side, not waiting to confirm the kryptonite was definitely gone. She was much too tired to stop them anyway, needing the reassurance of their embrace almost as much as they did.

Lois pulled them both close to her chest as they cried relieved tears.

Clark’s eyes flickered open, and he looked around, disoriented and confused. The color had almost fully returned to his cheeks. He lifted himself up into a sitting position, wincing slightly from the remaining bruises and swelling that hadn’t quite faded, but clearly gaining in strength.

He was healing. He was going to be okay.

"Dad, I’m so sorry," Jordan cried out, his face red with tears.

"Hey, it’s okay bud, none of this is your fault," Clark reassured him, though his expression seemed searching, like he was still going over the evenings events in his mind, trying to remember where he was.

"I should have listened to you. I never should have let those people see me, it was crazy dangerous. You have to know, I didn’t mean any of that stuff I said, I was just confused. I’m so, so sorry," he continued urgently, like he’d been scared he might never get a chance to tell him.

Lois watched as Clark pulled him in, clutching his head tightly against his chest as he sobbed. She sat back on her heels, holding Jonathan close as she allowed her own tears to freely fall. Her dad’s hand squeezed her shoulder gently, and she looked up at him with a gratitude no expression could do justice.

"Okay boys, why don’t you come with me into the kitchen, give your mom and dad a minute, yeah?"

They didn’t argue, following her father wordlessly out of the room, with their arms wrapped around each other for comfort.  

As soon as they were out of sight, Lois threw herself at her husband, his arms flinging open to receive her fully. She held him tight, sobbing uncontrollably; his own tears of relief evident as he buried his face in her neck.

After a few long moments, she pulled her body up onto the sofa, tucking herself softly into his side and lifting up her head to search his eyes. They were bright blue and sparkling, as breath-taking as always; like they hadn’t been so dull and full of pain only moments before.

"You saved me," he whispered, reaching out a hand to tuck her fallen hair behind her ear.

"Always," she whispered back, tilting her head so her mouth was closer to his and parting her lips in a soft invitation.

He met her without hesitation, kissing her deeply, passionately. It was a kiss that let her know he was still very much alive.

They both were.

They’d survived.

Once their lips parted, she simply lay her head on his chest for a moment, closing her eyes as she let the soft thump of his steady heartbeat guide her breath, grounding her back to safety.  

"It’s okay," he said softly into her hair as he stroked his hand down her back, his turn to offer soft words of comfort now. "It’s over. I’m here."

The evening’s events had taken what little energy she’d had, and she felt her eyes drooping heavily. Standing up to Lex, making the trip across town, wrestling Clark’s body into the truck… and the constant assault of fear on her strained nervous system; it all caught up with her, hitting her like a tonne of bricks.

"Shh, it’s okay, you can rest now," she heard him whisper, but she could already feel herself drifting off to sleep, the warmth of his embrace cradling her.

She let go, knowing that as long as she was in his arms, everything would be okay.  

Chapter Text

Clark held his wife against his chest as she drifted off to sleep, his mind slowly piecing together the evenings events. Flashes of nightmarish memory became clearer and clearer and in some ways, he wished they wouldn’t.

He'd been such a fool, walking straight into a trap like that, just assuming he’d be fine. All year he’d been focused on the mortality of everyone around him, talking about that fear as though the looming presence of death was something he would never understand. As though the smallest piece of his home world couldn’t bring him to his knees.

Tonight was a stark reminder; he was just as mortal as anyone else.

Sam poked his head into the room tentatively and Clark looked up at the sudden movement. He locked eyes with the older man, who nodded towards his daughter’s now sleeping form.

‘You need more time?’ he asked, keeping his voice to a whisper.

Clark felt a swell of gratitude at the man’s gentle question. There was a time his father-in-law would have seen the evenings events as just one more example of how dangerous it was for Lois to be around him.

His relationship with Sam had always been… complicated. 

Those first few years had been full of conflict and disagreement, especially about what was best for Lois. Lately though, things had been different between them. Clark had always known Sam respected him man to… well… Superman; but this last couple of years, it seemed like he was starting to respect him as a husband and a father too.

It finally felt like they were on the same team.

Lois shifted softly, nuzzling into his embrace as though trying to find a more comfortable spot. Clark was reluctant to risk waking her, but he knew they couldn’t stay like this forever. She needed proper rest, and to wake up in the comfort of her own bed.  

‘I’m going to get her upstairs,’ he confirmed, as quietly as he could.

He gently slid out from underneath her and off the sofa, taking a moment to check she was still sleeping soundly before bending back down to scoop her up in his arms.

‘Need a hand?’ Sam whispered.

Amazingly, he didn’t.

Some of his superpowers were yet to return, but his strength seemed to be returning fast. That was one thing that gratefully had substantially changed over the years - his length of recovery time following kryptonite’s effects. Those first few major encounters had him laid out for weeks. Now he was usually back to ‘normal’ within a few hours.

‘Thanks, Sam, I think I’m good. Are the boys, okay?’ Clark asked with quiet concern.  

He nodded, but Clark could see he was covering. Of course he was. Clark wasn’t sure exactly what had happened while he’d been unconscious, but if his sons had seen him in the state he’d been in back in that alley…

‘They’re… washing the dishes,’ Sam added.

‘That bad, huh?,’ Clark scoffed. He knew his boys well enough to know - if they’d voluntarily decided to do chores, they were not okay. ‘Tell them I’ll be right back down.’

‘Of course,’ the man simply nodded, hesitating for a moment before adding, ‘You might wanna wash your face while you’re up there too.’

Clark could see from the man’s concerned expression, he must look a complete mess. Now that he thought about it, he could kind of feel the sweat and blood still covering his skin. Although his wounds had healed, the evidence they’d been there only moments ago still remained. He nodded grimly.

‘Thanks, Sam,’ he added. ‘For everything.’

‘I’m just glad you’re okay Clark,’ he said, clapping a hand lightly on his shoulder. ‘We can’t afford to be losing any member of this family.’

Clark smiled back at him, and they shared a look that was becoming familiar between them. An unspoken understanding of what it was like to face the things they faced, and somehow keep going. Sam turned back towards the kitchen, and Clark began making his way slowly up the stairs. He carried his sleeping wife carefully, taking each step as delicately as he could.

He couldn’t remember much of how she’d managed to get him from the alley back to the farmhouse.  Fractured images came back to him, flashes of her struggling to manoeuvre his unco-operative body as he drifted in and out of consciousness; but nothing that told the full story. After everything she’d been through already that year, he knew it must have taken every bit of physical strength she had to get him home.

When Clark reached their bedroom, he carefully lay her down on the bed before reaching over to turn on the little lamp on the dresser. Guilt and worry twisted at him as he looked down at her, the warm light exposing just how bad things must have been. Her forehead was smeared with blood, some of it clumped in her hair, and her cheeks were stained with tears & smudged mascara. Patches of deep red covered her top and jacket, spreading all the way down to her jeans.

There was no way he was letting her wake up like this.

Quietly, he set to work removing her shoes, slipping them off her as gently as possible, before setting them to one side. Somehow, he managed to gently tug her out of her jeans and upper garments with only a few murmurs of sleepy protest. He ducked into their en-suite, filling a small bowl with warm water and soaking a clean washcloth. He rang the sodden fabric out slightly before bringing both items back into the bedroom.

As he stroked the damp fabric down her face, gently wiping away all evidence of the night's horrors, his mind drifted into worried thoughts.

It had to be Luthor.

He couldn’t know for sure yet, but it would be one heck of a coincidence if it wasn’t. The attack had to have been his sick way of letting Lois know that he was coming after her loved ones. That revenge was very much his priority.

Did that mean the boys were next?

Clark felt a surge of protective anger at the thought of the goons that had attacked him in the alley coming anywhere near his sons. There was no way in hell he was going to let them get anywhere near them. He needed to figure out how to stop him before things got any worse.

Luthor might be a free man, but that didn’t mean he was free to terrorize his family.

Once his wife was as clean as he was going to be able to get her for now, he took the now ruined washcloth back into the bathroom, rinsing it out and watching the sink fill with blood. He looked up, and for the first time that evening, actually caught sight of his own face in the mirror.

Despite his wounds having healed, his reflection was still a humbling sight. There was blood all over his face, with trails that seemed to start from random points, where injuries had clearly been. The blood had trickled all the way down his neck, pooling in the collar of his shirt. God, what state had she seen him in? Had the boys seen him like that too?

Suddenly feeling even more anxious to reassure them everything was okay, Clark grabbed for the washcloth once more.

Much more roughly than he had with Lois, Clark stripped off his clothes and scrubbed the blood and sweat from his face. Once he was sure he’d gotten every spot of blood visible, he rinsed the cloth under the tap, watching the red-tinged water drain from the basin.

Blood. His blood.

He could have died tonight.

A wave of anxiety took hold and Clark felt himself shiver. He couldn’t leave them, not now. Not after everything they’d survived as a family so far that year.

He headed over to their wooden chest of drawers and pulled on a simple T-shirt and fresh pair of jeans, checking his reflection one last time to make sure there wasn’t a hair out of line.

The boys needed to see - and really believe - he was completely recovered.

And he was… physically at least.

He took one last look at Lois’ and stooped to lay the top cover over her gently. She didn’t exactly look peaceful… twitching and jolting in her sleep as she processed some of the night’s harrowing events. Somewhat reluctantly, he pulled himself away. As much as he wished he could snuggle up beside her, his sons needed him more right now.

Clark made his way downstairs, the sound of the boys bickering in the kitchen bringing a small smile to his face despite the situation. 

For a moment there in that alley, he’d wondered if he’d ever see them again. It had been the worst feeling in the world, to think of leaving them behind. They were both growing up so fast, becoming men in their own right. The time he had with them now, it might be the last opportunity he had to really impact the people they were going to become. It was precious, and he didn’t want to miss a second of it.

‘Jordan, you’re supposed to rinse the suds before you dry,’ Jon’s voice came through loud and clear as he approached the bottom of the steps.

‘It doesn’t matter when you’re drying them with heat vision!’ Jordan protested.

Clark shook his head in amusement.

‘Hey boys,’ he said, just loudly enough to catch their attention.

They both threw down the items they were holding and dashed towards him, wrapping their arms around him in a very unself-conscious group hug.

‘Woah, hey, okay!’ Clark said in surprise, but he returned the gesture eagerly, pulling them in even tighter.

They stayed like that for a moment before Jon finally pulled away, peering up at him, his eyes scanning over him for any sign of the night’s earlier injuries.

‘You’re completely healed now?’ he asked tentatively.

Jordan stepped back too, joining his brother in his search for evidence. This kind of close observation would usually make Clark extremely uncomfortable, but right now, he wanted his children to have whatever reassurance they needed.

‘Good as new,’ he confirmed, lifting up his shirt so they could see his unbruised skin. ‘It’s okay, it’s all over now.’

‘Is it though?’ Jon asked, his relief quickly fading as his expression turned sceptical. ‘Luthor came right up to our front door. What’s going to stop him doing that again?’

‘Wait… he what?’ Clark asked, unable to hide the horrified disgust in his voice.

Lex had been here, at the farm. Only a few feet from his sons.

The back door flew open and Sam stepped inside, wiping his hands on another blood drenched cloth. He must have been cleaning up the truck. Clark was too distracted to thank him.

‘Lex was here, at the farm?’ he asked, and Sam nodded slowly with regret.

‘Yeah, he was here. Came right up to the door, acting like he and Lois were old buddies. Up until he started threatening her. Then Lex handed Lois your glasses,’ Sam explained, pointing to the cracked & and twisted frames that now sat on the kitchen counter.

Clark felt his blood boil with rage, and he found himself reaching out with his hearing, scanning through everywhere remotely nearby to see if he could hear the man’s voice. Not only was he furious that he’d used him to play a sick game with Lois, but it also seemed to confirm his fear. If Lex had no problem showing up at the farm, could he show up at the school too?  

‘What if he comes after one of us?’ Jordan asked, as though reading his mind. ‘What if he figures out who I am? He has kryptonite!’

‘There was a break-in at one of the 7734 locations,’ Sam added, ‘We are still awaiting an update on the status of the facility.’

‘John Henry?’ Clark asked.

‘We haven’t been able to reach him. Or Natalie.’

Clark reached out with his hearing, but he couldn’t pick up their voices or their heartbeats.

‘I’ve been trying to find them all night,’ Jordan confirmed he'd tried the same.

Clark could see the concern on each of his sons faces shift to him as they realized what he was thinking.

‘Dad, no,’ Jonathan protested without conviction. 'What if you get attacked with Kryptonite again?'

‘That won't happen again. I know what to expect now, i'll be careful. And i"ll be back as soon as I can, I promise’ he said apologetically.

He could see his sons reluctant acceptance.

No matter what he might find, they knew he couldn’t just leave John and Nat if they needed help.

Jordan did his best to try and repair his dad’s glasses. He bent the frames back into place pretty well, but the cracked glass was beyond what he could fix. He cradled them in his hand as he sat on his chair on their porch, his hyper-vigilant mind fixating on every sound, every unexpected movement in the fields around them.

He knew he should be sleeping like the rest of his family were at least trying to do. Their dad had already called in as soon as he’d rescued John & Nat, explaining that they’d been trapped in a soundproofed part of the facility after an explosion during the break-in. They had some minor injuries, but nothing life threatening.

They were okay. His dad was okay. The immediate danger was over.

But Jordan still couldn’t settle. Not until his dad was actually home. He listened out with his super hearing, catching glimpses of conversations with doctors and military personnel. His dad was clearly eager to get out of there, but he couldn’t just leave without updating them on what he was able to ascertain with his x-ray vision – both about the Iron’s condition, and the damage to the building.  

From the sounds of it, whoever had organized the unexpectedly successful break-in had walked away with a huge stockpile of kryptonite – weapons and raw form. It wasn’t exactly new information, but it still made Jordan shudder at the thought, feeling more vulnerable than he had in a long time.

He’d been so excited to discover that his body reacted differently to kryptonite than his dad, hoping that would mean he wouldn’t have to worry about it as much; but the way he’d felt being near even the small piece of kryptonite that remained inside his dad brought that fantasy crashing down. It might not be as bad as if he was fully kryptonian… but it was bad enough that he knew he’d be in serious trouble if someone attacked him with the stuff.

Finally, he heard his dad taking off from the DOD’s headquarters and flying home. He stood up, anxiously awaiting his arrival. Clark landed at the bottom of the porch steps and walked up to where Jordan was standing, his hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets.

‘Hey, what are you still doing up bud?’ his dad asked.

Jordan just shrugged, suddenly unsure what he wanted to say.

‘Just wanted to see you get home I guess,’ he mumbled. ‘So Nat & Mr Irons got a clean bill of health?’

‘Have you been listening?’ his dad asked, but without the usual tone of judgement.

‘Not to everything, just… caught a few things,’ he admitted.

‘It’s okay Jordan,’ his dad said softly.

He reached over and placed a hand on Jordan’s shoulder, giving him a brief reassuring smile before gesturing to the porch chairs and indicating they take a seat.

They climbed the few steps quickly and took their places awkwardly side by side, staring out at the dark cornfields. 

Jordan finally broke the silence.

‘I… I’m really sorry dad,’ he said, ‘I know what I did was really stupid and dangerous. I wish I could take it back.’

‘I know you are bud,’ his dad said with a sigh, ‘I just wish you’d talked to me about how you were feeling before something like this happened.’

Jordan shrugged again. ‘You’ve been busy with mom,’ he explained, ‘Besides, I don’t even really know what I’ve been feeling.’

‘How about trying me now?’

Jordan sighed. ‘I guess things with Sarah have been pretty rough. It was so hard when we were together, cause I couldn’t tell her who I was. When she found out, I…’ he looked up self-consciously.

‘You assumed she’d take you back?’

Jordan nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed. ‘Yeah. I… thought she’d think it was cool. I mean… it is cool. I can fly! I can shoot lasers from my eyes! Who else can do that? I guess I wanted her to see that I’m more than just the awkward kid with social anxiety now… but she didn’t. She still just kept treating me like that. Because thats who I am…’

‘Jordan,’ his dad protested.

‘Dad, no, it’s true. I… I don’t know how to talk to people. I try, and people just look at me like I’m weird or being rude, when I’m honestly not trying to be. It’s so easy for Jon, he just always knows what to say to make people laugh, to blend in… I stick out like a sore thumb.’

His dad looked like he wanted to protest again, but he didnt. Instead, he simply nodded. Jordan knew he couldn’t totally understand – his dad might not have been the most popular kid in school, but he hadn’t had the same issues as him growing up. Still, it was a nice feeling to know his dad was really listening.

‘When I’m wearing grandpa’s suit… everything’s different. I don’t have to be that freak anymore. I’m just strong, confident, powerful. I’m not scared of anything.’

His dad smiled, looking over at him with understanding.

‘I think I just… wanted that side of me to be seen too.’

His dad reached over, his hand resting on his shoulder.

‘I see you Jordan,’ he said, his firm gaze emphasizing his words, and Jordan found himself welling up.

He looked away self-consciously, but his dad pulled up his chin.

‘I mean it bud,’ he said softly. ‘And it’s not just since you got powers either. You’ve always had a lot more strength inside you than you realize. You think all the anxiety, all the struggles you’ve been through mean you are weak, but they don’t. They just mean that you’ve had a much harder battle. And you’ve kept fighting that battle every day… even when I wasn’t around.’

‘Dad, you know we don’t blame you for that anymore,’ Jordan reassured his dad.

‘I know,’ he said, hanging his head. ‘But it doesn’t change the fact you had to figure this stuff out without me. You are so much stronger than you think you are.’

His dad pulled him in for a hug, and he gratefully accepted, wanting to hide the tears that began to fall.

‘I’ve messed everything up,’ he sobbed into his dad’s chest. ‘Sarah hates me. I’ve been a total dick to Jon. And now everyone knows there’s some super kid flying around. What if Luthor puts the pieces together and figures out who we are? It feels like all I do is hurt people.’

‘Hey, that’s not true bud,’ his dad reassured him. 

Jordan appreciated the words… but it didn't change how he felt. 

‘Look… wait here,’ his dad said suddenly, after a long momeng of silence.

He dashed inside, and Jordan watched curiously with his X-ray vision as he wrote a note, presumably for his mom & brother. Then he came back out looking determined.

‘You up for a trip?’ he asked, pointing upwards suggestively.

‘Really?’ Jordan looked incredulously at his dad. ‘Now?’

‘C’mon, I want to show you something,’ he said, and Jordan shrugged.

They both headed down the porch steps and then took off into the sky.

Chapter Text

After only a few minutes flight, Clark indicated to Jordan that they had arrived. With a confused but curious expression from his son, they began their quiet descent, landing just outside a camping ground deep within an area of dense woodland. 

It was dark all around, except for a faint orange glow just a few metres ahead. Clark could smell the enticing scent of burning firewood, and if he wasn’t mistaken, a hint of slowly roasting marshmallows.  

His son looked around furtively, like he wasn’t sure exactly what his dad was dragging him into. Growing up in the city, his sons hadn’t exactly had much experience of spending time in nature, so it wasn’t his most comfortable environment. That was something Clark had assumed their move from the city would rectify, but even after they arrived in Smallville, no matter how many times he tried to make plans to take them camping, they’d just never made it. 

There was always something getting in the way. 

He made a solemn promise to himself that he would make it happen this year. He wanted his sons to have these kinds of memories with him, to spend quality time together, in nature, without the chaos of their lives confronting them every few minutes.

‘Where are we?’ Jordan whispered. 

Clark smiled in reassurance, gesturing for his son to follow and leading them towards the warm light up ahead. Once they were close enough, the campfire came into full view, along with the two men sitting side by side next to it. He nodded in their direction.

‘You recognise them?’

Jordan shook his head, brow furrowing in confusion.

‘They were inside the RV we saved from that wildfire a few months ago,’ Clark explained.

Jordan looked curiously from Clark back to the father and son.

‘Okay… but why…?’

Clark just placed a finger over his lips and gestured for him to follow again. He knew it was a bit of a gamble approaching these strangers in the middle of the night, but from what he could hear of their conversation, they were decent friendly folk, who hopefully wouldn’t assume ill intent. 

‘Well hey there!’ The older of the two men called out as Clark and Jordan stepped clear of the shadows and wandered into view. ‘What are you folks doing so far out here this time of night?’

‘Uh… we’re a little lost,’ Clark began, putting on his best naively innocent voice. ‘We thought we’d go for a hike in the woods and didn’t realise how far we’d gotten from our camp… Everything looks a bit different in the dark!’

Jordan shuffled awkwardly beside him as the younger of the men regarded them both skeptically. 

‘A hike? Where are your bags?’

Clark patted himself down, trying to look self conscious about his lack of preparedness. ‘Ugh… yeah, I guess I really didn’t think we’d be gone long.’

He smiled an awkward hopeless smile and hoped it would be enough. His dorky charm had won Lois Lane over after all, why shouldn’t it work now.  

‘Let me guess… city folks, am I right?’ the older man chuckled, and Clark nodded, smile widening bashfully. 

‘Metropolis,’ he only half lied. 

‘How long have you boys been lost? You must be mighty thirsty. Here, why don’t you join us for a beat, have a hot drink and get your bearings?’

The man didn’t wait for an answer, quickly setting about rustling through one of the bags at his side and pulling out a camping kettle and two mugs. 

The younger man mumbled something into his ear, but he was waved off dismissively. ‘Oh pish posh Miles, the least we can do is offer these folks a hot drink and a few minutes by the fire to warm up before they head back out. Now grab me the spare camping chairs out of the RV would ya?’ 

Clark smiled apologetically at the younger man as he sighed, rolled his eyes and reluctantly headed over to the motor home sitting in a clearing up ahead. 

‘Don’t mind my son, he’s just a little over protective of his old man these days,’ his dad chuckled. 

He stood up slowly, obviously a little wobbly on his feet, but determined all the same. He extended a gloved hand in warm greeting. 

‘My name’s Ben,’ he said, his leathery skin creasing with wrinkles as his smile broadened. 

A hand-made woollen hat and scarf obscured some of his face, but from what Clark could tell, the man appeared to be in his 70s. Still, his eyes lit up like he still had the fire of a younger man still stoking within. He took his hand, shaking it firmly and meeting his friendly gaze with a genuine smile of his own.  

‘My name’s Clark. And this is my son, Jordan.’ 

The younger of the two men returned, dumping the two chairs next to his reluctant guests and opening them out quickly, before heading back to his chair without a word. 

If he hadn’t brought Jordan here for a reason, Clark would have taken the man’s not so subtle hint they weren’t really welcome and headed on their way. 

‘The grumpy one here is Miles,’ Ben told them, and his son shot him a warning look. He just laughed heartily. ‘He’s a city boy like you, not so used to being friendly to strangers.’

The older man hobbled over to a small pile of firewood, grabbing a decent sized chunk and placing it carefully on the well constructed fire. Whatever life he’d lived, it seemed evident to Clark that he was much more comfortable being out in the wild than his son. 

‘Pa, be careful,’ Miles said anxiously, hovering around him like he was afraid his dad might fall into the flames. 

‘Oh would you stop fussing,’ his dad scolded him gruffly. ‘I might be an old man, but I’m not decrepit yet. I can still take care of a fire just as well as ever.’

He gestured for Clark and Jordan to take a seat, and they headed over to the camp chairs, Jordan a little more hesitant than Clark. He caught his son’s eye, giving him a look that he hoped said ‘trust me’ as they both sat down.

‘Oh yeah, cause fire’s are never dangerous,’ Miles responded pointedly before returning to his own seat.

Ben filled the little kettle with water from a bottle and placed it on a hook hanging from a metal tripod, dangling just over the flames. 

‘Now you know that was different,’ the man defended. ‘Ain’t no one got a hope in hell of managing a wildfire that powerful.’

‘You’ve been caught in a wildfire?’ Clark asked in a curious tone, though he knew the answer.

The older man nodded solemnly as he poked at the fire with a stick. 

‘Earlier this year. We were lucky to get out of there alive. My old RV was flying down the road as fast as she could, but those flames were coming down from every direction and eventually they cut us off. We were surrounded by merciless walls of flame… scariest moment of my life. And I've lived through some pretty harrowing ones. Whole area would have been turned to ash, and us along with it, if Superman hadn’t shown up.’

‘It was such a close call. He caught that tree right before it hit us,’ the son added, shaking his head in disbelief. 

‘We were very lucky,’ Ben nodded gravely. 

‘And yet I still can’t convince my old man here to come with me on a beach holiday instead of camping in the woods again,’ Miles added with a hint of frustration. 

‘Over my dead body,’ the man said a little too brazenly, making his son roll his eyes again. Ben turned to face his guests. ‘Say, you’re from Metropolis, have you ever met Superman yourself?’

‘Uh… we’ve seen him in action a couple of times,’ Clark answered intentionally vaguely. 

‘That boy’s a prayer sent from heaven,’ Ben stated proudly. ‘Wish I could tell him myself how grateful I am for everything he does for the world.’ 

‘I’m sure he’d appreciate that,’ Clark said warmly, always touched when he heard someone expressing their gratitude.

‘I still say it wasn’t just Superman there that day,’ Miles added, passing Clark and Jordan a stick with a marshmallow squeezed on top, and seemingly settling more into the idea of company. 

Jordan stuck his marshmallow in the fire eagerly, and Clark couldn’t help but grin at the sight of his son seemingly enjoying such a simple thing. 

‘Oh not this again,’ the older man dismissed. ‘Excuse my conspiracy nut of a son. He’s convinced somebody other than Superman put out the fire with his super breath…’

‘I swear to god, I saw him,’ the son shouted back. ‘There was another person there, flying alongside him, blowing out the flames.’

Clark felt Jordan tense up next to him.

‘It’s not even that far fetched now Pa,’ the man’s son persisted. ‘There really is another superhero working with Superman. It’s all over the news, he stopped a tornado over in Smallville, Kansas. Looks like he’s just a kid.’

Miles brought his marshmallow out of the fire, tugging it off the end of its poker and popping it into his mouth. Ben scoffed again, leaning forward to lift the lid off the kettle and see how the hot water was getting on. 

‘A kid… geez. I know I wouldn’t want that kind of dangerous life for my son,’ Ben grumbled, giving Miles a knowing look that made him sigh.

‘Dad, look I’m not getting into this with you again,’ the son defended. ‘I am going to be a firefighter, whether you like it or not. I’ve already been accepted into the next round of training.’

‘So you keep telling me,’ Ben grumbled. That doesn't mean I have to like it. I just don’t want you getting hurt.’

The older man picked up the kettle and gestured for Clark and Jordan to hold out their cups. He poured each of them a mug full of hot tea before sitting back down. 

‘I know Pa,’ his son said, his voice softening. ‘But we wouldn’t be here if Superman and that kid hadn’t decided to help people. That fire… it made me realise I want to do more than just sit around in an office. I want to actually make a difference in the world. If I can save even one life, it’ll be worth it.’

‘It’s different for folks with superpowers,’ Ben argued. ‘They ain’t putting themselves in so much danger.’ 

‘They’re not invulnerable either Pa. Besides,<span;>It's not like/spa;> they don’t have to give anything up to do it. Everyone who makes a choice to be a hero is risking something .’

The old man fell silent, too stubborn to concede but obviously not being able to dismiss his son’s drive to take action completely. Clark noticed the military insignia on the man’s overcoat, and he smiled in understanding. He knew full well what it was like to risk your life protecting people yourself, only to feel completely over protective when suddenly your son wants to do the same. 

‘How about you, kid?’ Ben turned to Jordan, seemingly relieved to have company he could rely on to change the subject. ‘You know what you wanna do with your life?’

‘Uh… I’m still kinda figuring that out,’ Jordan admitted quietly. 

‘That’s okay kiddo. You look plenty young enough to not be rushing into anything yet,’ the older man encouraged. ‘It’s not like it was back in my day, you youngsters have got time to figure out where you really belong.’

‘I guess you’re right,’ Jordan agreed. ‘It just… sometimes feels like a lot of pressure.’ 

He popped his own now gooey marshmallow out of the fire and straight into his mouth, forgetting to blow on it. Thankfully, neither of their companions seemed to notice.  

Clark knew what his son was saying. He knew all too well what it was like growing up with powers, not knowing if he was strong enough to live up to the gifts he’d been given. 

In some ways he’d had it harder, going through all of that alone. He’d had his parents… but they were just as clueless as he was, none of them knowing what to expect each time a new power appeared. Yet Jordan was also going through difficult things he’d not had to grapple with himself. He had the weight of people’s idea of Superman to compare himself too. This unreachable concept of what it meant to be a hero, that he seemed to desperately want to prove himself worthy of, whilst also feeling so hopelessly far away from. 

He didn’t want him to have to feel like anything he did was in the shadow of his dad’s legacy… but that was the reality of his son’s world. 

Clark squeezed his son’s shoulder, and he looked up at him and offered him a small smile. He wished they could stay there longer, but his anxiety to make sure he was there before Jon or Lois woke up overrode his urge to hold onto the moment of simple connection.

‘Well, I guess we’d better get back on the right track,’ Clark said finally, gulping down the last of his hot tea. ‘Thank you so much for the drink and for letting us warm up a bit!’ 

‘No problem. Oh and here,’ Miles reached into his pocket, fishing out a battered looking map. He opened it out, pointing towards a spot on the map that was only about 10 minutes walk away and handing it to him. ‘That’s the ranger’s station. They can probably give you a ride back to wherever you camped. You can take that with you if you want. I don’t know why I even brought the thing with me, we’ve been coming to these woods every year since I was a kid.’ 

Clark smiled warmly, accepting the gift. He glanced over at Jordan as he stood up, indicating he should do the same. 

‘Take care of yourselves folks,’ Ben said, standing up and reaching out for another hand shake. ‘And hey, if you ever do run into the man of steel or this new kid superhero of yours, you tell them both thanks from me. It’s ‘cause of them my son has a future at all.’

‘Will do, Sir,’ Clark nodded, holding his gaze with sincere gratitude of his own. 

Clark and Jordan walked away from the camp, heading in the direction of the rangers station in silence until they were sure they were definitely out of ear shot. 

Finally, Jordan turned to his dad, tears brimming in his eyes. 

‘Thanks Dad,’ he said quietly, before throwing his arms around his torso and sinking into a full body hug. 

Clark wrapped his own arms around his son’s back and held him tight. They stood there in the darkness for a few minutes before Jordan finally pulled free. He smiled broadly at him, feeling so grateful to be alive, to have had the chance to set things right. If he’d died with their earlier fight being the last words they said to each other… well, he dreaded to think what that would have done to his son.

Finally, he pointed upwards suggestively, and they gave their surroundings one last check before lifting up into the air.

Up they flew, high above the forest, until they were far enough away to not be spotted by human eyes. They could see a vast landscape beneath them, scattered houses lighting up the scene like fairy lights on a christmas tree. 

Jordan looked deep in thought as he took in the sights below, before finally sharing what was on his mind. 

‘I… I guess I hadn’t thought about the people we saved that much,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve been so focused on getting this superhero stuff right, showing you I can be better at fighting and using my powers… I didn’t really think about the difference i’d already made.’

‘I know Jordan, but that’s my fault, not yours,’ Clark admitted. ‘I’ve been so scared you might get hurt, so focused on teaching you all the skills and strategies I could to keep you safe. I forgot to teach you about why we do this. Why it’s so important. The reason is it's all worth it.’

Jordan looked up at him, finally meeting his gaze. 

‘I can hear them dad,’ he said softly. ‘I can hear people all the time. I try to block it out, but every now and then something pushes through. People are screaming for help. People in pain. I don’t know how to process all of that.’

‘I know bud,’ Clark acknowledged, feeling a mis of guilt and sadness that his son now understood the sting of experiences he’d never really been able to share with anyone else. ‘It’s impossible to explain to someone what that’s really like.’

He knew from his own experience, learning to use heat vision was much easier than learning how to compartmentalise the knowledge of all the things you can’t do. The people you can’t save. It was a heavy burden to carry. 

Jordan simply nodded. ‘You know I’m not just doing this for attention though, right? I do actually want to help people.’

His dad smiled broadly. ‘Of course I do Jordan… but you’re still a kid. I should have understood how hard all of this was going to be on you. Not just physically, but mentally. Emotionally.’

‘You were just a kid too,’ Jordan pointed out, and Clark smiled again. 

‘When I got my powers, yeah, but I didn’t put on a suit and start making real saves until much later.’

‘I guess,’ Jordan sighed. ‘So… where do we go from here?’

‘I don’t know bud,’ his dad admitted. ‘I think we just have to all lay low for a bit right now. At least until we deal with Luthor.’

Jordan nodded. ‘You think he’s going to come after me and Jon?’

Clark locked eyes with his son intently. ‘I’m not going to let him hurt you, okay?’

Jordan nodded, but Clark could see the scepticism on his face. He couldn’t exactly be surprised. It was only hours ago that he’d been on the brink of death himself, bleeding out in their living room. How could he seriously reassure his son that there was no danger to come. 

All he could do was pull him in for another hug, hoping the physical contact would reassure him that he wasn’t going anywhere, not if he could help it. 

Clark had always found the experience of hovering high above the hustle bustle of the world below strangely calming, and it seemed his son now shared his peace. They lingered there above the landscape for a few moments more, gazing down at the occasional movements of late travellers on the road as they floated just below the line of clouds. 

‘C’mon, let’s get home,’ Clark said finally. ‘We should try and get a few hours of sleep at least. Powers or no powers, it’s been a long night.’

Jordan yawned suddenly, surprising himself with his body's admission of how tired he really was. He nodded his agreement, letting his dad take the lead as they rose above the clouds and made their way swiftly back to Kansas.

Chapter Text

Lois woke to the smell of her favourite tea drifting towards her. She peeled her eyes open, a smile forming on her lips at the sight of her husband standing in the doorway, steaming hot cup in his hand. The sight was so familiar, such a normal part of their everyday lives, it took her a second for the previous night’s events to come back to her.

When they did it was like a sledgehammer to the guts. 

‘Clark?’ she said tentatively, suddenly wondering if she was still dreaming or even hallucinating the comforting sight. 

The lack of any evidence of any of his earlier injuries was surreal. How long had she been out? Was it even last night that everything had happened? She barely even remembered falling asleep, just the overwhelming relief, the comfort of his embrace, and then a world of darkness. But as she blinked away the initial haze, she could see that it was really him. 

He was okay. He was really okay. 

‘Shouldn’t it be me bringing you a hot drink while you recover in bed?’ 

The sound of his soft laugh filled her with even more confidence he wasn’t just a hallucination. 

He walked over to the bed, sitting beside her as she pulled herself upright, and handing her the hot tea carefully. Then he leaned in for a gentle kiss, and she allowed herself to sink into the reassuring contact with a sigh.  

When he pulled away, it was with an unexpected look of concern.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked with his trademark mixture of worry and guilt.

‘Clark, I’m fine,’ she reassured him, holding back the urge to dismiss the concern entirely, ‘I’m just glad you’re okay.’

Her battle with cancer had caused her to address a lot of her defensiveness around being perceived as vulnerable. It was a humbling process, and she’d had to accept limitations she’d never had to content with before. If she was being honest, she couldn’t deny how hard last night had been on her body. Not as bad as his, sure… but she didn’t have super healing and super strength kicking in to bounce right back. 

He nodded, accepting her assurance, but there was clearly still something on his mind. 

‘Sam told me what happened with Luthor,’ he explained. 

Ah, of course. She’d almost forgotten that part. The psycho that had arranged to have her husband beaten and stabbed, left for dead in an alley… had come right to her front door just to gloat. 

‘We knew he wasn’t going to just forgive and forget. I just didn’t think he’d be so reckless, straight out of the gate,’ she admitted. ‘Showing up in Smallville the day of his release and attacking you… no one could have predicted that.’

‘I guess his stay in jail has made him a lot less concerned about his façade of an innocent businessman,’ Clark nodded. ‘You’re dad’s looking into setting up a restraining order. That’s one good thing that might come of all this at least.’ 

‘Was there any evidence linking him to the attack?’ Lois asked. 

Clark shook his head. ‘No… but even if there was, we couldn’t report it. It’d raise too many questions. Clark Kent is going to have to stay out of sight for a while as it is, or Lex will put the pieces together.’ 

Lois shivered at the thought. It was bad enough without Lex finding out who Clark really was.

‘You should have seen him, Clark… he was completely unhinged. We need to find a way to stop him, before he comes anywhere near the boys.’

‘I won’t let anything happen to them,’ he told her firmly. ‘Or you. Last night was a mistake, I was too over confident. I won’t make that mistake again.’ 

Suddenly his head tipped to the side slightly, and he smiled knowingly. She knew that look. 

‘Jon, Jordan!’ Lois yelled out, and her sons came sheepishly through the door and into the bedroom.

Any frustration she felt with them eavesdropping on her conversation melted away as soon as she saw the tray of breakfast in Jon’s hands.

‘We made you eggs,’ Jordan declared, looking hopeful they might just brush over the awkwardness. ‘Somewhere between easy over and scrambled, just the way you like it.’

Lois couldn’t help but laugh, feeling herself well up at the same time.

‘Come here,’ she choked out, gesturing them in for a hug. 

They didn’t hesitate, Jon shoving the tray of food into their dad’s hand as both boys climbed a little bit too eagerly on to the bed and enveloped her in a bear hug. The wobbly motion of the bed and the tightness of their embrace made it clear just how sore her muscles were, but she didn’t care. 

‘Hey, go easy on your mom,’ she heard Clark call out behind them. 

‘I’m fine,’ she protested again. ‘I’m not the one who nearly died.’

‘No, you just single-handedly dragged dad’s body out of an alley and into the truck,’ Jon pointed out as the boys finally pulled back, sitting cross legged on the bed before her. 

Clark set the tray of food down on the dresser and moved around to the other side of the bed, seating himself beside her. 

She couldn’t remember the last time they were all in the bed together. 

‘How did you even manage that?’ Jordan asked. ‘He must have weighed a tonne?’

Lois wrinkled her nose at Clark’s look of mock hurt. 

‘Adrenaline’s a pretty powerful thing, I guess. Are you boys okay?’ she asked, scanning their eyes for any evidence of how the night had really affected them. 

‘We’re fine mom, honestly,’ Jon said firmly, ‘That wasn’t even really the scariest thing we’ve been through this year.’

He didn’t have to say anything more for everyone to know he was talking about her cancer diagnosis.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, ‘I never wanted you guys to have to handle so much all at once.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ Jordan shrugged. ‘Luthor’s a psycho, he was bound to try something.’

Lois caught further movement in the doorway, and her dad peaked his head around the corner. 

‘Hey,’ she called out as she caught his eye. 

‘Hey pumpkin,’ he said softly, full of relief. ‘Glad to see you awake.’

‘Thank you,’ she said simply, hoping her expression conveyed everything she was thanking him for. 

Without his support last night, Clark might have never made it through. She might have lost him. 

‘Just wanted to let you know General Hardcastle’s agreed to a dedicated team for tracking Luthor’s whereabouts. We think he’s gone underground for now, but we should know the minute he resurfaces. Don’t worry Lois, we’ll get the son of bitch.’

She simply nodded, relieved to hear they weren’t alone in this fight, but knowing Lex Luthor was always planning five steps ahead. He had to have known making such a brazen attempt on her husband’s life, and then basically openly admitting it in front of her dad, would set the DOD on his tail. She wouldn’t put it past him to have guys on the inside, who would keep him up to date with any intel they had on him, so he could always be one step ahead of them. 

‘That’s good to hear,’ she half lied anyway. 

It was better than nothing at least, and she needed her boys to feel safe. 

‘We’ll get through this, like we always do,’ she added, eyes passing back and forth between her sons intently. ‘If this year has shown me anything, it’s that this family is strong enough to withstand anything.’

‘Okay mom, no need to go all hallmark on us,’ Jon batted back playfully, his face morphing into a goofy smile. 

‘Right?’ Jordan added, eyes sparkling in a way that let her know they were really okay. ‘So cheesy!’

‘Isn’t today a school day?’ she asked suddenly, raising her eyebrow in challenge. 

Both boys looked horrified. ‘Seriously? We have to go to school today?’

She couldn’t prevent the smirk on her face. They were so easy. 

Clark laughed at the exchange. ‘Actually, I thought maybe we’d let Principal Balcombe know you won’t be in today. Maybe stick a movie on and have a sleepover day instead?’

He checked Lois’s reaction for her approval and she smiled, laughing again when she saw the boys pleading desperately with matching puppy dog eyes.

She of course caved.

The idea of a day cuddled up with her family was too good to resist.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘But we are NOT watching alien ancestors.’

‘Aww man, but there’s this new episode out that’s all about the ancient Egyptians…’ Jordan protested.

‘Oh my god, how are you a bigger nerd than dad,’ Jon teased,

‘Hey,’ Jordan and Clark both complained in unison.

Jordan shoved his brother playfully, and he responded with a ruffle of his hair.  

‘How about that new documentary mystery about the journalist who brought down that serial killer?’ her dad piped up.

‘See, someone around here knows my taste,’ she laughed. ‘You’re welcome to stick around, dad.’ 

‘Ah thanks, but I better head into the DOD,’ he said reluctantly. 

For once, she completely understood. He crossed the room, the boys moving to one side as he leaned in for a hug. 

‘Glad you’re okay, pumpkin’ he whispered, giving her a long look that caused her to well up all over again. 

He squeezed both boys shoulders, and nodded to Clark, another lingering look passing between them, and then he headed back out of the door. 

‘Can we have popcorn?’ Jordan asked excitedly. 

Apparently even last night couldn’t squash her children’s appetite. 

‘And m&m’s,’ Jon added his request. 

‘Oooh, I could whip up some chocolate bacon?’ Clark added excitedly.

Lois raised a dubious eyebrow, grinning again as she spotted her son’s doing the same. 

‘Fine, fine, I’ll just go get some ice cream from the freezer or something,’ he sighed in defeat. ‘But maybe we could let your mom eat her breakfast first.'

Clark ushered the boys out the door and Lois could hear them bickering about who was going to get the best blanket as they clattered down the stairs. 

Lois looked up at Clark with a beaming grin, and he sat back down beside her, taking her hand in his. 

‘We’ll get through this babe,’ she told him softly, seeing the worry still evident behind those deep blue eyes.

‘I know,’ he responded softly. 

On its own, the words wouldn’t have done much to convince her, but then he leaned in, cupping her face in his free hand and pressing his lips against hers in a long, passionate kiss that told her just how much he believed in her.  

The kiss broke off suddenly, and he was tipping his head to one side again, listening intently with a serious expression. 

‘Superman?’ she asked knowingly. 

He nodded. ‘Mud slide in Brazil. Let the boys know I’ll be right back.’

‘I will,’ she reassured him, already seeing that apologetic look on his face. 

‘I love you,’ he said intently. 

‘Love you too,’ she said with a soft smile. ‘Now go. And be careful.’

He nodded again, giving her another brief kiss before super speeding away in a gust of wind.  

Luthor looked down at the newspaper article in his hand, Superman’s smiling face plastered over the front page. It was from his first interview with Lois Lane, the interview in which he shared more about himself than he ever had before or since. Allowed himself to be really seen.

‘It’s been over a week Sir, and there’s still no record of him attending a hospital,’ one of his men reported, and he didn’t even look up from the paper. ‘Not even a visit to a doctor.’

‘And you’re sure he would have needed one?’

Gretchen stepped out from the shadows. ‘Honestly Lex, it’s suspiscious he survived at all.’

Lex set the paper down, standing up and wandering over to the blacked-out window of their hiding place, where he could still see Metropolis, even if Metropolis could no longer see him.

There were so many puzzle pieces coming together in his mind.

Could it really be this simple? This is beautifully poetic?

He supposed it was possible they’d taken him for treatment at the DOD, kept it shrouded in secrecy for some reason… but why would they need to do that? 

‘And the blood analysis?’ he asked, knowing the answer to that question was the only thing that could confirm the truth once and for all.

Gretchen smiled broadly at him, handing him the open manilla folder in her hands. 

‘It’s a match, sir,’ she revealed. ‘Clark Kent is Superman.’

Lex just stood there silently for a moment, his own cruel smile widening at the woman’s words. 

This was just too good. It all made sense now. Why Lois had started coming after him so hard once he’d discovered kryptonite and began creating problems for the man of steel. Why he always seemed to show up, just in the nick of time, whenever she was in trouble. 

She wasn’t just friends with him. She was married to him. 

And even more mind blowing… They had kids. 

‘So, Lois Lane and Superman had twin boys…’ he mused.

Gretchen just looked up at him, her eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity. He was unsurprised, after all, her background had been in scientific research. If Lois’ children really were half alien… It presented a lot of questions, and a lot of opportunities for study. 

He stood up, handing the folder back to her and looking out over the city again, feeling even more confident in his inevitable return to power than before. 

‘Guess we better find out what alien/human hybrids are really made of.’