Chapter Text
It started gradually.
In retrospect, Jon was pretty sure that he could trace the first signs that something was off back to the spring. At the time, he’d attributed his frequent fatigue to the end of term exam period. And he’d figured the occasionally aching muscles meant that he was simply getting out of shape.
He’d had nothing to fill the post-football void, after all. He was pretty sure that sports at Smallville High were permanently off the table for him in the wake of the X-K incident. That sucked but, quite frankly, he’d been okay with putting his head down and spending as little time on the school campus as possible.
As the term wrapped up, he’d done his homework, hung out with Jordan, Sarah and Nat, gone on some increasingly lacklustre dates with Candice, and kept up a few shifts a week at Britt and Dunnes.
He’d felt more tired than usual as May turned into June, and he’d spent a few restless nights not-sleeping as his arms and legs experienced random twinges of dull pain— but he hadn’t considered it to be a big deal.
He’d get back into shape with some summer jogging, he’d told himself. And he’d start feeling much better when school was over and he could finally sleep in.
But that hadn’t happened.
From the first day of summer break he’d found himself waking up as early as ever, no matter how much he’d tossed and turned the night before. It felt impossible to sleep once the sun was in the sky and he’d done his best to avoid Jordan’s sideways glances when he’d made his way into the kitchen just past five am each morning.
He knew what his brother was thinking— and why his brother was also awake at that very un-teenage hour— but he refused to acknowledge it. Two weeks into the summer holidays, he’d started staying up his room until at least nine, killing time on his phone and avoiding any unjustified suspicion.
He knew he wasn’t like Jordan or his dad.
He’d shown no signs of anything special over the past few years. In fact, his increasingly frequent aches and pains seemed to be even more evidence that he was very human.
The other two Kent men could lift tractors and stop bullets. Meanwhile, Jon found it harder and harder to start his day without a few minutes of stretches to overcome the stiffness. By July, he frequently found himself taking some of his mother’s painkillers too.
It was just a small thing, but the pills were what had first alerted his family members that something was going on. His mother had noticed that nearly two Costo-sized bottles of Tylenol had gradually been emptied and Jon and fessed up to the ongoing muscle aches.
The truth was, it had felt good to come clean. He’d been getting increasingly worried too. The morning stretches and jogs didn’t seem to be making things better, and the painkillers barely did much either. He wasn’t uncomfortable 24/7, but there always seemed to be a few annoying hours of dull pain during his day.
And a few headaches to make things even more fun recently too.
He hadn’t missed his parents’ worried glances but he tried not to freak out too much yet. He’d always been someone to push through and overcome. He kept telling himself that this would be the same.
Thankfully (or not), his parents had decided to hold off on a doctor’s appointment for now. They’d always been weird about that kind of thing and Jon got the unsettling sense that they weren’t entirely sure if this was within the realm of normal medicine.
For his part, he was convinced that it was. He’d done a bit of online reading during his restless nights and was able to make a convincing argument that he was simply having a particularly annoying teenage growth spurt.
Like Jordan, he’d shot up a few inches in recent months, and he seemed significantly more muscular too (which didn’t make a ton of sense, considering his athletic lull, but he didn’t dwell on that).
If things didn’t even out in a few weeks, he promised his parents that he’d let them know. They watched him carefully from then on, while pretending that they weren’t. Which made Jon even better at masking his increasingly persistent symptoms.
He knew he probably shouldn’t put on a tough facade but, after a year of feeling like the weakened bystander, his pride wouldn’t let him do anything else. He didn’t want to sit there complaining about headaches and knee problems while his twin brother practiced flying laps around the world.
The thought made his stomach clench with the sort of jealousy and inadequacy he strove to keep at bay.
Unsurprisingly, it was Jordan who saw through the act most easily, however. Try as he might, Jon couldn’t his every wince and bad mood. Especially as things continued to get worse. And Jordan was the one who was home with him while their parents were off at the Gazette.
One morning, in early August, his brother decided that he couldn’t take it any longer and finally called him out.
It probably shouldn’t have been a surprise. Jordan had always been the one least likely to shy away from uncomfortable realities.
“Dude, you need to figure out what’s going on with you,” he said, eyes narrowing as Jon say across from him with a cup of orange juice.
He’d felt a sharp pain in his wrist as he’d poured it and let out a tiny hiss. That had been more than enough for the other Kent twin to latch onto.
Still, Jon tried to keep up the act.
“I’m fine,” he said, a little too hastily as he took a quick sip. The pain was still there, a bit duller than before. It was a fight to ignore it.
Jordan instantly scoffed.
“You’re not. You’re a mess, and it’s not getting better,” he challenged, stubborn as always.
Jon couldn’t help but shift under his gaze, the truth of those remarks were impossible to deny.
Things had been getting worse, and he was pretty damn worried. His online searches hadn’t come up with anything to put his mind at ease and he’d quickly scrolled past the worst possibilities with a flutter in his chest.
“Just drop it, okay? It’s a stupid growth spurt or whatever.”
His brother wasn’t buying that either. At least, not in the way Jon meant it.
“A Kryptonian growth spurt maybe. But not a normal one,” came the quick, and very unwelcome, reply.
Jon stiffened in his seat and he knew he was already too late to mask the instinctual reaction in his face. Frankly, a similar thought had crossed his mind before, but he’d quickly repressed it.
He obviously knew who his father was, and what that had meant for his brother. But he also knew that he was different. He’d been in countless harrowing situations over the past two years and no amazing bursts of power had sprung forth. He was just him. A regular teenager who was now dealing with some very human sensations. It kinda sucked, but it was what it was.
“Fine, I’ve been sore and stuff,” he admitted with annoyance, “but that just means I’m definitely not like you and dad,” he paused, swallowing down that familiar surge of inadequacy, “your joints weren’t sore when your powers set in. And I haven’t done anything weird.”
He expected that to be a solid enough argument. But, apparently, it wasn’t.
Once Jordan had an idea, he rarely let it go. Jon could feel his penetrating gaze examining him carefully.
“No, I wasn’t sore,” he agreed, “but I definitely had headaches. And we’ve both gotten bigger and taller at pretty much the same rate this summer which, let’s be real, isn’t exactly normal. Especially since we’ve been sitting around doing nothing.”
He raised his own arm for emphasis, his bicep swelling rather impressively for a moment before he allowed his arm to drop to the side.
Jon knew his own physique was more or less the same recently (despite his inability to lift a freight train) and he had to admit that it was probably a bit strange. Somewhere along the way, relatively quickly, they’d both started looking like their dad.
(Their dad who happened to be from another planet).
That had seemed very secondary to his ongoing fatigue and discomfort but, in that moment, he began to wonder if his brother had a point.
“Fine, maybe that’s a bit weird. But I don’t have powers,” he replied after a long pause, his hand subconsciously brushing against his firm stomach muscles.
“You’re also not entirely human and pretty much anything is possible,” Jordan countered again, much too Jon’s dislike.
The internal discomfort was growing with each passing second and he had the sudden urge to flee back up to the solitude of his room.
It wasn’t that he hated or refuted that fact. He knew where half of his DNA came from and he definitely wouldn’t be signing up for genetic testing any time soon. He wasn’t stupid. But it seemed equally apparent that things had manifested for him and his brother in different ways.
If he hadn’t displayed unusual traits by sixteen, then surely he wouldn’t.
His Kryptonian side was recessive.
Right?
(Were there actually any rules when it came to this sort of thing?)
“Maybe grandma can figure out what’s going on with you,” the other teen continued. His eyes lit up hopefully as he kept starring towards Jon. “I can fly us there now if you want. She might know how to help.”
Part of him wanted to say yes.
It was a valid proposal, and in many ways it felt less daunting and scary than having a human doctor tell him that what was going on with him was even worse than some weird hybrid thing.
But he also wasn’t in any mood to fully entertain it.
He had barely slept, his head had a dull ache, and his stupid wrist was still acting up.
So instead, he let his own stubborn streak shine though.
“I’m getting better. It’ll pass,” he snapped, probably not convincing his twin at all.
He didn’t stick around to debate it further however. Grabbing his juice, he made his way back upstairs hastily and shut the door.
He didn’t come back down until several hours later when his parents came through the door with some takeout pizzas for dinner.
He ignored Jordan’s incessant looks as he pretended to have an appetite and choked down one and half slices.
As it turned out, however, he probably should have listened to his brother’s suggestions.
He managed to carry on for the next few days. Avoiding Jordan when he could and spending significant amounts of time alone.
Candice had stopped texting him back the previous week, which sucked, and he tried to attribute his ongoing malaise to that. He certainly did feel the disappointment and heartbreak (though there had been warning signs for a few months that this had been looming). When his parents came to check on him, he resorted to that as an excuse.
And as he began to feel worse and worse, he tried to convince them that there was a flu going around.
He was pretty sure that there was.
That’s all he wanted it to be.
“Denise missed work for two days last week because of a stomach thing,” he told his dad truthfully as he stood in the threshold to his bedroom, arms folded across his chest.
His mother was on the bed beside him, feeling his forehead for signs of fever and looking into his eyes as if searching for some sign of the latest illness.
“It’s true, Chrissy had it last week,” she said reluctantly.
But he could tell that her instincts were telling her this wasn’t quite right.
Apparently, his father wasn’t quite buying it either.
“You’ve been sick all week,” his dad pointed out, “and you haven’t completely been yourself all summer.”
He watched the two adults exchange a look. There was no doubt that they had been talking about this a lot. Probably more than he’d suspected.
“I think it’s time to get a doctor involved,” his mother said worriedly, using her other hand to feel his forehead this time. “This has gone on way too long. We need to figure something out.”
His dad’s frown deepened and there was no masking the worry in his eyes.
“Lois, I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think Dr. Ramirez at the DOD might be our best—“
“No. We don’t have to do that yet. Clark, we should try your mother first, at the very least.”
“It doesn’t seem power related. And if it’s something more human in nature I don’t think she’s the best one to get to the bottom of it. Dr. Ramirez is an expert in both human and Kryptonian physiology.”
“My dad can’t guarantee that no one else will see you take him there. It’s too risky.”
Jon watched the exchange, his pulse quickening with each passing moment.
This was the first time he’d heard his parents mention the DOD doctor in relation to his annoying predicament. Frankly, when they’d mentioned the possibility of going to the doctor before, he’d assumed it would just be Doctor Fry downtown. That had been daunting enough, and his parents’ had largely avoided doctors for him and his brother throughout the years. But this was an entirely different kettle of fish.
His eyes widened at the prospect of being dragged into a government facility. He couldn’t barely even picture it. If this doctor was a Kryptonian expert, then presumably he’d be there without any secrets. Was his dad going to don a cape and fly him there? Was he going to ask some random doctor to figure out why his half-Kryptonian son seemed to have some sort of chronic illness that was getting worse and worse?
The panic swelled and, in a bout of bad timing, he felt a stab of pain in his stomach and couldn’t stop himself from letting out a strained moan as he clutched his side.
This was definitely bad. There was no doubt about that.
He hadn’t kept down any food in two days any everything hurt. But surely humans experienced things like this too? There were countless terrifying illness out there that had nothing to do with recessive alien DNA.
He felt a breeze as his father sped to the side of his bed, kneeling down as the spasm of pain passed.
“I’m fine,” he said, very unconvincingly before letting out a ragged cough. “Just give it more time. People get sick.”
That was true. Though he wondered how many people felt like this.
His entire body was pulsing, each beat bringing a surge of discomfort that was harder and harder to mask.
The panic he felt seemed to be making it worse.
So much worse.
He couldn’t steady his breathing and his chest began to burn.
His head was throbbing now too as he tried not to picture himself on a metal examining table at the DOD. He knew his parents would never put him in danger (maybe this doctor really was the best hope)— still, it was a scary thought.
“You’re not fine, Jonathan. We need to do something.” His mother’s voice broke through the pounding in his ears, but it didn’t help.
His father reached out and grasped his shoulder, eyes full of worry.
“Jonathan, we need to find someone to help.”
“No!”
He shouted an instant and frantic response, knowing they were right— knowing that something was very wrong— but still not wanting to go.
That was when all hell broke loose.
For a second, all he heard was a quiet rattling sound.
His breathing was shallow and rapid and his eyes were clenched firmly shut but, as the rattling began to grow, he snapped them open.
It wasn’t just a sound, he realized.
The room was moving. Or rather, nearly everything in it was. With accelerating intensity.
His desk was rocking on its legs, his books were bashing against the shelf. The medals and trophies that attested to his years of (false?) human accomplishments jittered on every surface, creating a terrible noise that grew and grew.
He had no idea what was happening and he could barely hear his parents worried cries or his brother’s arrival as the contents of the room swirled around them all with increasing force.
He was doing this.
He didn’t know how, but he knew that he was.
The painful pulsing sensation in his body amplified tenfold and he couldn’t hold back a cry of pain.
It felt as if every fibre of who he was was suddenly being ripped apart.
Everything around him flew through the air, swirling and twisting and bashing against the walls.
His mother and brother disappeared, his father pulled him close.
The world turned red.
Then, it faded to black.