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In any other circumstance, Jordan would call the evening peaceful. The sun was sinking over the horizon, setting the sky ablaze and bathing the back forty in a golden-orange glow. It wasn’t too hot, it wasn’t too cold. The corn was rustling in a gentle breeze.
Unfortunately, the red glow emanating from his brother’s eyes killed the whole vibe.
It was a miracle that Jordan’s own eyes weren’t emitting death rays right now. “You’re still using? Are you out of your mind?!”
Jon scoffed, squaring his shoulders. “You’re just pissed because you’re not the only special one now!”
Jordan groaned in frustration. They’d been going in circles ever since the fight in the locker room last night. “Jon, the X-K is messing with your head! How can you not see that?”
“Oh, I can see everything pretty clearly.” Jon smirked maliciously, and that in itself was wrong. Jon didn’t do malicious. Smug? Cocky? Asshole-ish? Sure. But malicious was a new look, and Jordan needed it gone. Now.
So Jordan did what any sane man would do when he found his twin wandering around in the middle of a cornfield, hopped up on alien rocks.
He socked him in the face.
Jon stumbled back from the force, falling flat on his ass. His red eyes faded as he lightly touched the bruise already forming on his cheekbone. Then he was straightening, chuckling darkly. “I can go toe to toe with you now, superboy. You sure you’re ready for this?”
“Jon, don’t,” Jordan warned, even as he widened his stance like his grandpa had shown him
Jon growled, actually growled, jumping to his feet in one fluid motion. And that’s when things got weird—like, really weird—because he kept going up.
Jordan watched, argument forgotten, jaw hanging slack as his brother flailed fifteen feet above him.
“Jordan?!” Jon yelled. The venom in his voice was gone, replaced with pure panic.
It took a couple seconds for Jordan to get vocal cords working. “How the hell are you doing that?!” he finally managed yelled back, squinting against the setting sun.
“Forget that! How the hell do I get down?!”
“How am I supposed to know?! You’re the one on drugs!”
Instead of coming down, Jon shot up another ten feet. “Dude!”
Jordan instinctively palmed the ELT in his back pocket before he remembered. Treason. Black site. Right. Dad couldn’t come to help this time.
Shit.
“Uhhh…” This was strictly Dad Territory, Jordan was so out of his depth here. “I don’t know, man, think happy thoughts?”
“This isn’t a freaking Disney movie!”
“Look I don’t know, I can’t fly yet!” Jordan’s mind whirled as Jon continued to float. If Jon lost control and kept going up—or worse, dropped from thirty feet in the air…
They had to get Jon down, now, preferably slowly and calmly.
An idea began to take shape in his mind.
Calm. That could work.
“Just…just breathe!” Jordan yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth to be heard. “Like with my anxiety stuff! In, then hold, then out!”
He thought he saw him nod, and a quick check in with his super hearing confirmed that Jon was trying to time his breathing. After a minute or so, he began to slowly float down.
“That’s it!” Jordan pumped a fist in the air.
Jon collapsed to his knees as soon as he hit the ground, palms pressed flat on the dirt. Jordan darted over, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Are you ok? You hurt?”
Jon shook his head mutely, hand reaching for his back pocket. He pulled out an X-K inhaler, about halfway empty.
“Take it,” Jon said with a shaky voice. He met his gaze then, eyes wide and scared. “Take it, hide it, and don’t let me know where you put it.”
Jordan nodded solemnly, and Jon dropped the inhaler into his outstretched palm.
.
.
There was a constant, low level pain thrumming through Clark’s body. Any lingering injuries had cleared up during his impromptu trip to the sun, but the following exposure to red sunlight from Tal’s cell had left an echo, an ache in his neck, his legs, his chest.
And that wasn’t even touching the turmoil in his thoughts. Betrayed by the DOD. Locked in a cell, cut off from the world. Anderson off the rails, taking puffs of X-Kryptonite from an inhaler and ranting like a madman. Tal nearly sacrificing himself. Him actually sacrificing himself, lying dead on the desert floor because Clark hadn’t been fast enough, hadn’t been strong enough—again.
This was becoming a disturbing trend.
But suddenly none of that mattered, not right now, because Lois was in his arms and her lips were crashing into his and everything else fell away, eclipsed by love and relief and safety and home.
“Long day,” he whispered, resting his cheek on her hair.
It took a moment for Lois to respond, but when she did she tightened her arms around him. “Long day,” she agreed.
“All I want now is some…” his train of thought was totally derailed as he caught a whiff of the food on the table. He was starving. When was the last time he ate something? “…Chinese food.”
Lois chuckled lightly, pulling back. “Yeah?”
Clark took a deep breath. His turbulent thoughts could wait, just a little longer. “Yeah. Glass of red wine…” he managed to force a small smile. “…to be with my family.”
His smile quickly faded as she just sighed, thumping her head on his shoulder. Clark looked down at her, then up at Sam. “What?”
“The police found Jon with twenty X-Kryptonite inhalers at school,” Lois murmured into his chest.
It took Clark’s exhausted mind a moment to process. But then it clicked and he pulled back, his hands on her shoulders. “What.”
“The police went by school today, he was at his locker with twenty—“
“Why the hell was he even at school on a Saturday?”
Lois tilted her head, frowning. “Clark, it’s Monday.”
“It’s—” Clark blinked, momentarily thrown. He could’ve sworn it was Saturday night. How long had they kept him under?
Jordan chose that moment to come barreling down the stairs and into his arms, aggravating his aching muscles as he hugged him with enough force to crack a tree in half. But the pain was a welcome distraction from his quickly spiraling thoughts, and Clark welcomed it. He hugged his son back just as hard, marveling at how strong he was getting.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” Jordan announced when he finally released him. “I suck at mentoring.”
“I—what?” Clark was still stuck on the fact that what had been little more than 24 hours in his mind had actually been three days. And that in those three days, his son had apparently become a drug dealer. He rounded on Jordan. “Did you know your brother was dealing drugs?”
Jordan’s enthusiasm immediately faded. “He’s not dealing,” he said quietly. “He’s just covering for his dealer.”
“His dealer.” Clark’s voice spiked. “Jon’s been using X-Kryptonite?”
Anderson gone mad, unable to be reasoned with. Sucking in X-K like it was oxygen, beating the hell out of him, out of Tal, noticing how it affected Him and using it to suffocate Him, to kill Him…
The look on Anderson’s face had been seared into his memory. And in his mind’s eye, the image of those insane red eyes superimposed itself over that of his son.
No.
Just…no.
“I need to talk to Jonathan.”
.
“I wanted to be better.”
“By taking drugs?! Have we taught you nothing? Have you never heard a single word that either of us has ever said to you?”
“Yes!”
“Then dammit, act like it.”
.
After his lecture, Clark was far too exhausted to regulate his hearing as well as he usually did. As a result, the sound of Jonathan’s hitched breaths and quiet sniffles made him stop halfway down the hall. His son was sobbing.
Despite himself, Clark retraced his steps until he was hesitating outside his door.
A small, detached part of him noted the irony of the situation. Just under a year ago he’d been hesitating outside of Jordan’s door, unable to relate to his moody son who felt everything so strongly. But now here he was, just outside Jon’s door because he’d been so focused on finally building a bridge with one son that he hadn’t noticed the chasm widening to separate him from the other.
How had he missed this?
He was at the practices, he was at the games. He was there in the mornings to see both of them off to school, and he’d even been good about making it for dinner lately.
He’d been around.
“You have to be present,” his mother had told him once. He’d been around, sure, but had he been present? When was the last time he’d talked with Jon about something other than Superman things or football?
He sighed and rapped gently on the door. “Jonathan?”
A loud sniff, the sound of him clearing his throat. “Yeah?”
Clark took that as an invitation to come in, taking in Jon’s red-rimmed eyes, his tear-stained face as he silently took a seat on the spare bed. He pushed up his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose as he took a moment to reign in his lingering anger, his frustration, his fear and just listen. “Talk,” he finally forced out.
Jon’s heart audibly skipped a beat. He took a shaky breath. “What?”
“I got the broad strokes from your mom, but I owe it to you to hear your side of things. So…” Clark waved a hand tiredly. “Talk.”
In bits and pieces the story came out. Feeling useless next to him and Jordan. The unfair advantage Timmy had on the field. The X-K, the mood swings, the uncontrollable rage. How the stress of the past few days had culminated in a surge of power that’d had Jon levitating 30 feet off the ground.
The withdrawal symptoms he’d been having ever since he told Jordan to take the inhaler somewhere he’d never think to look, his dealer terrified about how an arrest would affect his or her home life, the fact that he was now hiding in his room instead of waiting downstairs with the family for news—scared to risk their safety as the X-K effects wore off.
And dammit if Clark didn’t get it, because while him and Jordan may have a whole lot in common now, Jonathan had always shared his temperament. This? Making the sacrifice play to help people, even bad people, even though it may be wrong because the alternative was worse?
Clark was finding an alarming number of similarities between Jon’s situation and his own situation with Him—the backwards-talking Superman from another world.
Except now He was dead.
That mental image had Clark jumping to his feet, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Look,” he finally began, turning to face his son. “I don’t want you thinking that I take back anything I said before, because it’s true and I am still very, very disappointed in you.”
Jon nodded, head hanging low.
Clark ducked down to meet his lowered gaze. “But,” he stressed, “we’re going to get you through this withdrawal. We should take a trip to Tal’s fortress, my mother might be able to—”
Pop.
A noise, barely audible, and a sting in his neck.
Clark grunted in surprise, hand automatically flying up to the source of the pain.
“Dad?” Jon pushed himself off the bed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Jonathan, I—” he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Thin, glowing, kryptonite-green tendrils spread outward from a spot on the side of his neck. A sharp, burning spasm sent him stumbling into the wall, choking on a scream.
This was…not ideal.
Jon’s eyes shot wide as he caught a glimpse of his neck. “Shit, Dad, what is that?”
“Language,” Clark bit out, trying for normalcy. This was fine, he’d be fine, he’s dealt with Kryptonite before, no need to worry Jonathan. He tried to push himself off the wall, but another blinding spasm sent him reeling.
Jon was shouting something.
Clark’s world hazed green.
.
.
Jon cursed loudly, trying to control his dad’s abrupt descent to the floor. “Mom! Grandpa!” he shouted. “Something’s wrong with Dad!”
Footsteps thundered up the stairs, and soon the whole family was crowding into his room.
“Clark?” His mom dropped to her knees, transferring Clark’s head to her lap. “Is that Kryptonite?”
Jon sat back on his heels, running a shaky hand through his hair. “I don’t know, maybe? We were talking and then he just collapsed!”
His grandpa’s sharp eyes narrowed as he came to some sort of realization. “Fuck,” he breathed. The next second he was at Jon’s side, probing Clark’s neck at what seemed to be the epicenter of the spreading green veins.
Clark let out a high-pitched, strangled sound at his touch, eyelids fluttering.
“Fuck,” Sam repeated.
“What?” Lois demanded. “What is it?”
Sam ignored her, roughly pushing Jon aside to grip Clark’s shoulder. “Clark, you need to get up, now.”
Clark’s breath hitched, but his eyes remained shut.
“Lois, boys, get back,” he barked.
They instantly obeyed, scooting back to give him room.
Jon watched his grandpa use the extra space to rear back and punch his dad in the jaw.
“Dad!”
“Grandpa, what the hell?!”
But it worked. Clark shot upright as if electrocuted, hand flying out to catch Sam’s wrist. He blinked rapidly, eyes unfocused, chest heaving like he’d run a marathon.
Sam let out a grunt of discomfort as the fingers around his wrist tightened.
Lois immediately stepped in, rubbing a soothing hand down Clark’s back. “Clark, hey hon, look at me.”
Jon’s parents locked eyes, and suddenly Sam’s wrist was free. Clark sagged into Lois’s side, gritting his teeth and reaching toward his neck. At the last second he seemed to think better of it, instead cupping the area protectively. “Sam, what…?”
“I think…” Sam hesitated, shaking his head. “In the early days of 7714, there was an idea for a contingency plan. An experimental tracker, tiny, coated in lead. The theory was to track Superman’s movements, and then remotely detonate a Kryptonite component to incapacitate and apprehend.”
“What.” Lois’s voice was dead flat.
Sam got up to pace, scrubbing at his jaw. “Look, you have to believe me, I shut it down as soon as I caught wind of it! You think I didn’t realize what would happen if they tracked Superman to my daughter’s house? I made sure the plans were destroyed!”
“Yeah, well, it looks like you did a great job of that,” Jordan shot back.
Jon frowned. “Dad, wouldn’t you have noticed if they’d implanted you with something?”
“I was knocked out. At least a day,” Clark shook his head and immediately winced. His voice sounded like he gargled gravel. “Thought today was Saturday. Who knows what else they—”
“They’re coming,” Jordan interrupted, head tilted at a familiar angle.
Clark’s breath was still sawing in and out in short bursts as he pushed himself to his feet and immediately listed to the side. If it weren’t for Lois and Jon catching his elbows, he would’ve dropped right back to the floor.
“Who?” Jon asked frantically. “Who’s coming?”
“The military,” Jordan answered. His face was pale.
Jon watched his dad shrug off their support and take an unsteady step forward. “I need to get to my mother,” he grit out.
Lois stood up on her toes, careful not to jostle his neck as she gave him a quick kiss. “I love you,” she murmured.
“Love you too, Lo.” He turned to face them next, forcing his words out in between breaths. “Boys. Take care of. Each other. Be back. Soon.”
The rush of wind and the sudden empty space, Jon expected.
What Jon did not expect was the crash from downstairs that immediately followed.
Jordan caught his gaze, and then they were leading the charge down the stairs.
But instead of the military breaking into their home, they saw their dad sprawled on the floor, groaning amidst the ruins of the coffee table.
“Clark!” Lois gasped, running to help him up.
“It’s spreading…fast,” he heaved.
“We’re running out of time,” Jordan announced, his own breaths coming quicker and hands fisted in the pocket of his hoodie. Jon rubbed his back absently.
Sam’s mouth thinned. “Clark, I don’t need to remind you what the repercussions would be if they find you in this house with that tracker.”
Clark heaved himself to his feet, face tight with pain, and started staggering for the door. One of the glowing tendrils was slowly snaking its way up his cheek. Jon could only imagine how many more were hidden by his shirt.
Lois was quick to grab him as he listed to the side.
“Barn,” he said. “Suit’s in…the barn.”
Lois took two large steps to block his path. “No.”
“It’s the only way.”
“No, Clark, absolutely not! You’d be practically turning yourself in!”
Sam scrubbed at his jaw. “And you already escaped once, you get bet your ass they’re not making the same mistake twice.”
“Can’t. Fly.” Clark grit out, each word an effort. Jon watched in horrified fascination as his dad hovered about a foot off the floor before crashing back down, leaning heavily against the doorframe. “No. Other. Option.”
This wasn’t happening, this couldn’t be happening. Jon felt like he was on the verge of a panic attack. Jordan was probably in the middle of one, if his breathing was any indication.
And that’s why his comment came out of nowhere.
“Jon can,” he said quietly.
“Jon can what?” Sam asked impatiently.
Jordan finally pulled a hand out of his hoodie—and with it, a familiar inhaler. Half full of X-K. “Fly.”
Silence, only broken by the rasps of Clark’s breathing.
“That could work,” Sam finally said.
“Are you out of your mind?” Lois rounded on her father.
“Would you rather Clark imprisoned for treason? Again?”
Lois’s mouth opened and shut silently in a rare moment of speechlessness.
“Jonathan,” his dad said, locking eyes with him. “No. You don’t have to do this.”
Jon saw the way his grandpa was looking at him. He saw his mom was frantically trying to think of an alternative and coming up empty, and he saw the way Jordan’s head was tilted, counting down the minutes until the military was breaking down their front door.
He saw his dad sucking air through a clenched jaw, desperately trying to mask the pain he was in, gripping the doorframe hard enough to warp the wood as two more green veins inched toward his temple.
“Yeah, Dad,” he finally forced through his tight throat. “Yeah, I kind of do.”
And with that he reached out his hand. A look passed between him and Jordan—stay safe, you too, I’m so sorry, save him, protect her, you better come back, I will—and Jordan dropped the inhaler into his outstretched palm.