Chapter Text
Jonathan jumps the last few rungs of the ladder down to the storm cellar. The impact shocks up to his knees, but he barely registers it. He barely registers anything except the horrible pressure in his chest, the endless sinking in his stomach.
People need to understand that Superman won’t be there to save them anymore.
Lois’ words whirl through his head, ringing in his ears. It’s official now. The article is published. For the first time in his life, he lives in a world without Superman.
A world without his dad.
It didn’t have to be like this. They could have saved him. Like Clark had always said — there’s always another way.
Until Jordan had ruined their only chance.
He can barely stand to look at his brother anymore. There’s no coming back from this. He knows that Jordan regrets it — he can see how badly it eats him up inside. But it’s only what he deserves.
Jonathan’s heart pounds like it wants to force its way out of his chest. His hands rise up to tangle in his hair, and he fights to gather himself. Calm, cool, collected. That’s Jonathan Kent. Always. Isn’t it?
But any hopes of regaining his control dissipate when he hears the tell-tale whoosh behind him.
“Dude, I was just trying to save him.” Jordan’s voice sounds so pathetic. “I’m so sorry…”
Jon holds up a hand to cut him off. He can’t do another round of this. Not now. “I know. Alright?”
It’s clearly not enough of a dismissal. Jordan steps closer, anguish written all over his face. “Look, you have to forgive me.”
The tension rises in Jon’s throat. He does his best to swallow it down. The last thing he needs is to lose his cool. “Jordan, I’m not blaming you. Just leave. Please. Please…”
But it’s not getting through. “You have to forgive m–”
“Please, will you just shut up for once in your stupid life!”
Jordan’s protests grind to a halt. He stares, wide-eyed, hardly breathing.
Now that it’s started, Jonathan can’t get it to stop. It keeps bursting out of him, like a series of punches thrown directly at his brother’s face. “I am so sick of your crap! Ever since you got powers, all you’ve done is bitch about how hard everything is! And you keep saying that you’re trying to do what’s right, but you never do! You weren’t trying to save Dad — you were trying to be a hero, and NOW DAD’S DEAD!”
He’s right in Jordan’s face now. Spit flying. Voice cracking. Vision red. “MY DAD IS DEAD! AND I NEVER GET TO SEE HIM AGAIN!”
An unfamiliar urge washes over Jonathan. Despite all the usual sibling bickering and arguments, he’s never wanted to physically hurt his brother before. But as he looks into Jordan’s tear-filled eyes, the thought flashes through his mind, for less than a second.
Something snaps. His hands shoot out — not towards Jordan, but at the shelf behind him. As Jordan staggers away, Jon shoves everything aside. Spare cans and old tools clatter to the floor, several of them breaking on impact.
Not enough. Without thinking, Jon’s hands find the table beside him and flip it violently, sending the whole thing to the ground.
Not enough! A fist flies towards the first place he can make impact — a wooden support beam. It doesn’t give, holding steady against his blows. That doesn’t stop him. He punches again and again, gasping, needing to feel something break —
But his hand gives before the pillar does. He stops abruptly as the pain suddenly registers, whimpering softly as he observes the skin — red, raw, splinters poking from his knuckles…
It’s never enough. There’s nothing he can do. There’s never anything he can do.
A choked noise escapes his throat. He staggers back, blindly searching for something to steady himself against, before sinking to the dirt floor in front of Clark’s pod. His knees rise up to support his arms, and he buries his head and sobs, crying like he hasn’t done in years. Not since he was a little boy, upset at some meaningless thing, and all he needed was his dad to make everything alright again — but it won’t be alright again, his dad will never come back, never, never — all that grief and rage boils over in his chest, forces its way up into his throat, to his head, coiling and burning just behind his eyes, threatening to burst out —
Jonathan’s head abruptly shoots up. Twin beams of white-hot fury erupt from his face, setting the overturned table ablaze.
Dimly, Jon hears Jordan’s stunned reaction, but he can’t focus on it. His breathing comes faster and faster, and suddenly every exhale is accompanied by a blast of frigid air. “What—!” Frost swallows the word, turning an old chair beside him to an ice block. And as he watches, the chair suddenly disappears, and he’s instead looking at the dirt beneath the Kent farm, crawling with worms and bugs and rodents.
He scrambles back, trying to clamber to his feet, to make sense of this. But when he reaches to steady himself, the ground simply isn’t there. “What is—?” He strains for some support, but the movement sends him tumbling end over end. The dirt floor finally comes into view — three feet below him. He’s floating.
“What the—!?”
Jordan shouts his name, but before Jon can even attempt to form a response, something slams into him, leaving him gasping. At first, he can almost make out individual noises — a heartbeat, wind whistling through tall grass, a car radio, passing conversation. But they’re quickly drowned out by an endless ocean of sound, pummeling against his entire body, rolling and crashing over and over and over —
“STOP!!” Jon clasps his hands to his ears, to no avail. It’s not even loud anymore, just an overwhelming pressure bearing down on his skull, ready to squeeze him down into nothing from the sheer weight of it —
And he drops like a stone. He’s vaguely aware of his limbs twitching, a pair of arms wrapping around him, wind rushing past his face… then nothing.
“GRANDMA!! DAD!!”
Two days ago, Jordan had carried his father’s corpse to the Fortress. He’d thought that would be the worst flight of his life. But now, as he frantically deposits his unconscious twin brother on the cold ground, he’s not so sure.
A pair of shimmering figures materializes beside him. Even expecting it, the sight of his dad as a hologram is unnerving — but there’s no time to dwell on that. “Something happened to him — he just — he just —”
Lara is already pulling up a diagnostic screen, commanding the stone floor to lift Jonathan to a higher surface. Clark steps closer, his expression oddly muted. Or maybe it just seems that way because Jordan knows how the real man would react. “Jordan, I need you to slow down and tell us what happened.”
Jordan gasps for breath a few times before he can force it out. “He — it was like he had our powers. He had heat vision, ice breath, he was floating — and he was covering his ears, like...”
“Like his hearing kicked in,” Clark finishes. A hand rises as if to touch Jonathan’s shoulder, but stops. Holograms aren’t built for physical interaction.
Jordan hasn’t let go of Jon’s arm. “Is he gonna be okay?”
Lara studies the readouts on her screen. “He appears stable for the moment, though he may remain unconscious for some time.”
At that, Jordan crumples slightly in relief, breathing slowly to try and slow his heart rate. The thought of losing Jonathan, too…
“His body appears to have undergone an enormous stress response,” Lara continues. “And his cells are absorbing solar radiation at an unprecedented rate.”
“But — he’s not like us,” Jordan protests. “He doesn’t have any powers. I mean, you guys did tests. You said it was impossible.”
“Unlikely, but not impossible. The addition of human DNA makes these things difficult to predict. Your abilities manifested quite differently from your father’s, and Jonathan appears to differ from you both.”
“So you’re just guessing?” Jordan snaps, but Clark holds up a hand before things can get too far off track.
“Jordan, I need to know exactly what was happening before this started.”
“We…” Jordan swallows uncomfortably. “We were arguing — fighting.” As Clark raises a holographic eyebrow, Jordan continues, “I was trying to apologize, and he… I’ve never seen him so angry. He was yelling and punching and breaking things. And then he just collapsed.”
Clark bows his head, and his image flickers slightly. The holographic programs sometimes do that when processing unexpected information.
Something horrible tightens in Jordan’s chest. “It’s my fault, isn’t it? I pissed him off, and now—”
“No.” Clark steps closer. “Jordan, listen to me. None of this is your fault.”
“Of course it is!” Jordan shoots back, finally releasing Jon’s arm to back away. “It always is! Jon’s just the only one willing to admit it. You’d still be here if it wasn’t for me.”
“Jordan Elliot Kent!”
The full-name treatment, like he’s five years old again, stops him in his tracks. Now that Clark has his attention, his tone softens considerably. “This is Lex Luthor’s fault. No one else’s. Do you understand me?”
Jordan stares at the floor, refusing to answer. “...what’s going to happen to Jon?”
Clark hesitates, clearly debating whether to double down on his question, before glancing back at Lara. “You’re sure that he’s stable?”
“Yes. I believe he will regain consciousness within the hour.”
“Then all we can do is wait. We’ll know more when he’s awake.” Then with a sigh, he adds, “You should fetch your mother.”
Ow.
Jonathan groans as he gradually comes to. Something pulses and pounds in his head, while a series of dull aches makes themselves known all over his body.
“He’s waking up,” a familiar voice says, as if on the other end of a long tunnel. “Jonathan?”
“...Dad?” He must have taken a bad hit during practice. Clark had driven him home, and he’s in his bed, sleeping it off. He cracks open his eyes —
Reality slams back into place. He’s in the Fortress, lying on a stone slab. And it’s not really Clark. Just a shimmering imitation.
Jonathan sits up all at once, which sends the room spinning. His hand flies to his forehead. “Oh…”
“Easy. Take it slow.” Lois rests a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. There’s a strange, light pressure on the side of his head – he trails his fingers around to feel a device of some sort sitting behind his ear. As soon as he touches it, Lois gently but firmly pulls his wrist away. “Leave that there for now, baby.”
Oh no. It’s never a good sign when Lois calls him baby.
As things start to stabilize, Jon gradually takes in his surroundings. Lois is beside him, rubbing his arm, while the hologram of Clark stands at a respectful distance. Behind him, Lara monitors a simulated screen with his silhouette on it. And all the way on the other side of the room, Jordan leans against the wall, arms tightly crossed, the only person not looking at him.
“...what’s going on?”
“You passed out,” Lois replies. “Jordan brought you here. Do you remember?”
“I… sort of, yeah.” Most of it’s a nonsensical blur in his head.
“And do you remember… using any powers?”
“Powers? You mean like…”
It comes back to him in pieces. Heat vision. Ice breath. Floating.
Jon’s heart rate spikes, which starts a faint but persistent beeping from Lara’s readout.
Clark speaks again, his voice gentle and even. “Based on your grandmother’s readings… we think that you’ve developed Kryptonian abilities.”
The beeps come faster. “But… you said that was impossible. That I was practically human.” Subconsciously, he avoids meeting the hologram’s eyes — it’s deeply unsettling.
If Clark notices, he doesn’t comment on it. “It’s hard to know these things with certainty. But as far as we can tell, your cellular structure has completely shifted. You should have all the same powers as your brother now.”
“What — everything? Just like that?”
“Kryptonian abilities have always been intrinsically connected to the user’s emotional state,” Lara says, as though it makes perfect sense. “It’s possible that a traumatic reaction could have triggered genes that were otherwise dormant.”
“What?"
Clark holds up a hand, clearly trying to keep him calm. It’s not really working. “The parts of your body that activate your powers can also be impacted by emotions. That’s why it can be so difficult to control them. We think that…” He hesitates. “Severe emotional distress could have been enough to trigger your abilities.”
Emotional distress…? Is that why they’re all staring at him like he’s sprouted an extra head? They think he's in distress? “But I’m not — I’m fine.”
“Dude.” Jordan’s soft voice barely carries from the other side of the room. “You were having the meltdown to end all meltdowns.”
“Shut up.” Jon snaps it without even thinking. Jordan sags against the wall.
“Jonathan...” Lois warns quietly.
“What?” He stands, wobbling a little on his feet. “So I have powers now. Big deal.”
“It is a big deal, Jonathan.” Clark takes a hesitant half-step closer. “I developed my powers over the course of a decade. Jordan’s took two years. Getting everything at once... it’s not going to be easy. Your grandmother designed those earpieces to reduce the strain on your system, but even those won’t block everything.”
Jon’s hand trails up to the strange device sitting near the back of his head. That must be holding back the wall of sound that had knocked him unconscious before. He should be relieved, but instead, it sends a surge of annoyance through his chest. “So I finally get my powers, and the first thing you do is try and block them?”
“That’s not it.” Clark’s expression is too muted. A stark reminder that it’s not truly him. “It’s more like training wheels. They’ll let you adjust to your sharper senses more gradually.”
“How come Jordan didn’t use them?” Are they babying him now? He’s half-tempted to rip it from his head. Only the vague memory of hitting the storm cellar floor stops him.
“Jor-El likely did not know how,” Lara replies. “He was a brilliant scientist, but biology was never his focus.”
As if reading his mind, Clark continues, “Try to keep them on. You’ll need time to build up a tolerance to your new hearing.”
“Tolerance.” Jon huffs. “But you can train me, right?”
“I can guide you,” Clark replies, in a disconcertingly patient tone. “I can offer advice. I can monitor your progress. But... for something like this, you need hands-on training. You need—”
Jon doesn’t even let him finish. “No.”
“Jonathan—”
“I am not training with him.”
Jordan’s voice drifts across the Fortress. “I told you he wouldn’t want to do it.”
“Jonathan, this will be nearly impossible to figure out on your own. You need guidance from someone who’s been through it before. I’m only a hologram — I can’t do that for you. Jordan can.”
“I don’t need his help!” Jon protests, immediately hating how shrill his own voice sounds. Like a child about to throw a tantrum. “Didn’t Jor-El teach you everything by himself?”
“Yes, and I was alone in the Arctic for five years. I don’t want you to go through that.”
“Well, whose fault is that!?” Jon snaps. “We wouldn’t have to do any of this if Jordan hadn’t gone and—”
“Jonathan!”
Lois’ sharp tone cuts him off. He turns to her — and she flinches.
It takes a few seconds to register how badly his eyes burn, how crimson the edges of his vision have become. His heat vision is about to let loose.
Jon snaps his head away from her, eyes shut, face covered with both hands — he’ll burn a hole through his own palms before he lets anything happen to his mom. After a moment, he feels Lois’ gentle touch on his back. “It’s alright. Breathe...”
Without even thinking, he finds himself settling into a breathing exercise he used to talk Jordan through when they were younger — in for four, hold for seven, out for eight. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. After a few repetitions, the rage broiling behind his eyelids gradually reduces to a low simmer.
“Sorry,” he finally mutters.
Lois rubs his arm. “I know this is hard. And I wish your dad could be here to help you through this. But he’s not. You and your brother need each other now more than ever.”
Jon lowers his hands to sneak a glance over to the opposite side of the Fortress, where Jordan still leans against the wall. His brother gives him a barely noticeable shrug as if to say ‘what else is there to do?’ But his expression looks about a million miles away.
“...fine,” Jon relents. “I’ll train with him.” Maybe then everyone will stop watching him like he’s made of glass. “Where do we start?”
“For now? Rest.” Clark takes a half-step closer, like he wants to offer some comfort but doesn’t know how. “Come back here tomorrow morning.”
Jon nearly protests... but his whole body aches. Maybe he should just go home and try to sleep it off. He sighs and sags against the table.
Jordan approaches slowly. “I’ll take you guys back. Who's first?”
“Just get it over with,” Jon mutters. Without another word, Jordan effortlessly scoops him into a bridal carry and takes off, soaring across the ocean and the fields. It only takes a minute to reach the house, where Jordan sets him down in front of the porch.
As Jon makes his way up the steps, Jordan’s voice stops him. “Look, man...”
Jon stops, but doesn’t turn.
“...I’m sorry,” Jordan manages. “About everything. I know how overwhelming this stuff is.”
“Whatever.” Without looking back, Jon can already feel Jordan’s face falling. “I have powers now. It’s what we always wanted. Right?”
“Yeah,” Jordan agrees, with no real heart behind it.
The silence stretches between them.
“I’m going to sleep,” Jon finally says.
“Okay.”
Jon can sense that Jordan wants to say something else, but he goes inside before he has the chance. He’s not in the mood. As he curls up in bed, the faint sounds of Jordan returning with Lois drift up from the front hall — soft footsteps and hushed voices. Talking about him, probably. A hand wanders to the device behind his ear. If he removes it, could he listen in on them? Figure out what they’re saying?
Somehow, the idea has never sounded less appealing.
He rolls over with his back to the door, staring at the wall until sleep finally claims him.