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The scene would have been really funny if the context and everything weren’t so serious, Jon thought. Mr. Cushing, the intimidating fire chief who’d run a cheerful hazing campaign against him for weeks, was spinning around in circles on the lawn, mouth wide open as he stared incredulously upward.
“What the hell was that?” Mr. Cushing croaked. Jon watched as he pulled in enough breath for a shout and turned to face him and Jordan on the porch, tottering dizzily. He took a jerky step toward them, pointing at the sky, eyes intense.
“What in the hell was that?” he shouted.
Jon shared a look with Jordan, who looked a little queasy. “What should we do?” Jordan whispered.
Jon looked back at Mr. Cushing, resenting his dad more than a little. He knew that whatever had taken him away must be important enough to justify revealing everything like this. But couldn’t he have just, like, zipped Mr. Cushing home first for his girlfriend or his ex-wife to deal with instead of just leaving him here?
Turning back to Jordan, he shrugged. “Dad said he would explain later,” he said. “So let’s let him do that.”
With casualness he didn’t really feel, he walked down the porch steps. “Do you want to come inside, Chief?” he asked. If he ignored the way Mr. Cushing’s shoulders tensed up and his eyes widened as Jon approached, maybe they’d all be able to hold it together until his dad came back.
Mr. Cushing stared at him incredulously for a moment. Annoyance replaced some of the shock on his face. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, kid,” he said shakily. He swallowed. “Doing the whole superhero vigilante thing behind my back and then turning around and calling me ‘chief.’”
Jon met his stare. “I don’t have superpowers,” he said. He heard the porch railing creak behind him but didn’t turn around.
Mr. Cushing huffed a laugh. “You expect me to believe that after what I just saw?” he asked. He swung his arm back up at the sky. “Clark Kent just shot off into the sky. Like—like Superman.” He stopped. His eyes went wide. “Oh my God,” he said. “Clark Kent—Oh my God. Clark Kent is Superman.”
Jon watched Mr. Cushing’s face do all the things his own and Jordan’s must have done two years ago when their parents told them the truth. Then he walked up and gently put his hand on Mr. Cushing’s shoulder.
“Come inside,” he said. “Our dad’ll be back soon. Like he said, he’ll explain everything.”
Mr. Cushing let Jon lead him up the porch steps and into the farmhouse as Jordan held the screen door open. “Can you hear what’s going on?” Jon asked his brother under his breath as he passed.
Jordan glanced at Mr. Cushing, who was standing in the middle of the living room in a daze, and cocked his head.
“Not really,” he said apologetically. He winced a bit, squinting, and rubbed at his temple. “He’s at the DOD for sure, but everything’s all garbled up.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Mr. Cushing demanded. Jordan winced again, blinking rapidly, looking anywhere but at his ex-girlfriend’s dad.
“Just trying to figure out where our dad is,” Jon said neutrally. He caught Jordan’s eye; Jordan squinted back at him and nodded. “He’s taking care of something at the DOD.”
“And how the hell do you know that?” Mr. Cushing asked.
Jon raised an eyebrow at Jordan. Jordan swallowed, then nodded. “I heard him,” Jordan said.
Mr. Cushing stared at Jordan. “You both have superpowers?” he asked. Then he grunted, rubbing at his forehead. “Of course you both have superpowers,” he said to himself before rounding on the twins again. “And, what, you both just vigilante all over Smallville? Get other people in danger trying to play hero?”
“I don’t have—” Jon started, but Jordan stepped forward first, chin thrust out stubbornly.
“People get themselves in danger just fine!” he said. “I help people.”
Mr. Cushing took a step back as Jordan stepped forward. His face was a mix of anger and fear, which Jon could tell Jordan noticed by the way Jordan stiffened beside him.
“You got Sarah and Junior out of that car,” he said. Jordan nodded. He rubbed his temple again. Mr. Cushing’s eyes narrowed. “She knows about you, doesn’t she,” he said. “She broke up with you because she found out.”
“That’s not why,” Jordan said hotly.
Jon rolled his eyes. He got mad at his dad all over again for leaving him with two of the three people in Smallville least likely to deescalate a situation if they got angry enough. He wished his mom were there, too; at least she usually used her anger for something. “Can we take this into the kitchen? Please?” he asked.
Jordan and Mr. Cushing both ignored him.
“You all put the whole town in danger,” Mr. Cushing said. “All that crazy alternate universe stuff last year! And the Kryptonite drugs!” His voice got louder as his list of grievances got longer. “And all that stuff with Morgan Edge—would he even have barged into Smallville if there weren’t already aliens here?”
Jordan’s eyes flashed. Literally. “I think you did a great job inviting Edge here all on your own!” he said.
“Don’t you threaten me, kid.” Mr. Cushing’s voice was low and dangerous, but he was backing away from Jordan again.
“Why not?” Jordan spat back, taking another step forward. “What are you going to do?”
Jon sighed in frustration. “We all need to calm down until our dad gets back,” he said, but of course no one listened.
Mr. Cushing’s knees hit the edge of the couch—he’d backed up all he could—but he still stuck a finger in Jordan’s face. “For one thing, I can make damn sure you never see my daughter again!” he shouted.
“I saved her life!” Jordan roared. He stepped forward again, right into Mr. Cushing’s face.
“Oh my God, STOP!” Jon broke in finally. He forced himself between his brother and his boss. “This isn’t helping!” He turned to Mr. Cushing. “Look, we know how crazy this all is! We didn’t know anything for years and years either—we only found out right before we moved here! And we freaked out too, but it didn’t end up helping anything.” Mr. Cushing looked away from Jordan finally and met Jon’s eyes with a hard stare. They looked at each other for a long moment before Mr. Cushing took a deep breath and nodded, breathing out hard through his nose.
Jon nodded back before turning and glaring at Jordan. “Would you please just, like, get Mr. Cushing some water or soda or something?”
Jordan’s face was red and he was blinking rapidly again. Jon watched as the anger bled out of him and the uncertainty came back. “Fine,” Jordan said. He scrubbed a hand across his eyes and walked to the kitchen.
“Do you want to sit down?” Jon asked, turning back to Mr. Cushing, who jerked his eyes away from Jordan to meet Jon’s again. “I don’t know how long it’ll be until my dad gets back. Like I said, he’s at the DOD. Usually Jordan can hear what’s going on, but he said things were too chaotic right now to tell anything for sure.”
Mr. Cushing’s face was unreadable as he slowly sat down. “Jordan can hear,” he repeated, “because Jordan has superpowers. Like Superman.” Jon nodded. He had never seen Mr. Cushing sit down without slouching at least a little, but he guessed there was a first time for everything.
“But you don’t have superpowers,” Mr. Cushing continued, half to himself. “How is that even possible? You’re twins.”
“Fraternal twins,” Jon said. He shrugged. “Why is Sophie four years younger than Sarah and taller than her already? Genetics are weird, I guess. Even in the same family.” Even when everyone involved is human, he thought, but didn’t say out loud.
Mr. Cushing looked at Jon for a moment as Jordan filled a glass at the sink. He rubbed a hand over his chin. “Is that why you wanted to join the firehouse so bad?” he asked. “Because you can’t be a superhero or something?”
Jon very purposefully did not look at Jordan. “It’s a lot more complicated than that,” he said. He took a deep breath. “There are a lot of ways to be heroic. And honestly, if I could pick right now, I don’t know whether or not I would choose to have powers. Sometimes they’re more trouble than they’re worth.”
A glass shattered on the floor in the kitchen. Jon and Mr. Cushing both jumped to their feet just in time to see Jordan lurch toward the sink and gag into it.
“Jordan?” Jon called. Jordan turned and gave him an unfocused glare before leaning over the sink again.
“You’re supposed to, like, knock on wood or something after you say something like that,” he said. He choked into the breakfast dishes. “Ugh, why does this always happen at the worst times?” he groused, swaying a little and rubbing his temple again.
“What’s happening to him?” Mr. Cushing asked, face tense.
“X-ray vision,” Jon said, because of course it was. Mr. Cushing followed him at a distance as he walked over to Jordan, who was green-faced and leaning heavily against the edge of the sink. He rubbed his brother’s back but couldn’t help himself from ribbing him a little.
“I dunno, man,” he said. Looking at Mr. Cushing, he willed him to understand. He counted off on the hand that wasn’t soothing his brother. “Invulnerability setting in right when you fell off the barn ladder. The hearing clicking just in time to save Dad. Superspeed to save me and Candice from that asshole X-K dealer. Flight kicking in to save Mr. Cushing from that warehouse fire and then take down evil me.”
“I fell out of the sky,” Jordan protested before he vomited into the sink.
“Yeah, but Dad had you,” Jon said. Mr. Cushing’s eyes were wide, watching them. He had a complicated expression on his face that Jon couldn’t read. “I’d say you’ve been, like, fifty-fifty on shitty versus badass power manifestations.”
“I hate you,” Jordan grumbled, but he leaned back into Jon’s hand a little.
“You love me,” Jon said, turning back to his brother. “And it’s my own fault anyway. I should have known better than to let you take drink orders instead of me.” Jordan stiffened under his hand, but Jon kept rubbing in circles until he relaxed again. “It was a joke, Jordan,” he said.
“I said I was sorry for that, and I meant it,” Jordan said softly.
“I know. And I forgive you,” Jon said. “What’s happening? Can you control it at all? Or close your eyes at least?”
“I would if I couldn’t see through my own freaking eyelids,” Jordan grumbled. “And it’s not just the x-ray vision. It’s like all of it all at once. I keep zooming in and out and through things. And I’m worried if I try to focus—” He narrowed his eyes, then snapped them shut abruptly when they glowed red.
Jordan groaned. “It’s like trying to flex a muscle I don’t have.”
“Can you hear if Dad is finishing up at the DOD yet?” Jon asked. “He should take you to the Fortress when he gets back.”
“He’s got to talk to Mr. Cushing about everything, though! We can’t just—ugh.” Jordan grunted and bent over the sink again. “This is worse than the hearing,” he ground out. “I can see through everything—”
“Not lead though, right?” Mr. Cushing asked. Jon looked up, surprised. “Superman can’t see through lead—at least, that’s what I hear.”
Jon nodded. “Yeah, that’s true,” he said. “But I don’t know if we have anything lead.”
Mr. Cushing hesitated a moment before coming closer to the twins. He had the same look on his face that he did when he was giving the crew orders at a scene. “Jordan, see if you can focus on the plumbing to this sink here,” he said. “A lot of these old houses have lead pipes still. Better hope your dad never thought to replace his mom’s for her.”
Jordan spat bile into the sink and stared into the drain like his life depended on it. Jon squeezed his shoulder; he could feel Mr. Cushing’s eyes on him, but he kept his on his brother. He felt the moment the tension in Jordan’s muscles relaxed. “Found it?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Jordan said heavily. He gulped in a breath. “Yeah, I got it. Th-thanks, Mr. Cushing,” he said.
Jon looked back at the fire chief, a bit at a loss.
“Where’s your broom?” Mr. Cushing asked. “We should clean all this glass up.”
Jon got out the broom. Mr. Cushing took it from him wordlessly and started sweeping the glass into the dustpan Jon held. Jon glanced up at him, wondering what to say. It felt like something had shifted—it was like they were allies, now, working together to help Jordan. The tension was different, but it was still there.
“This sort of thing happens around here a lot, huh,” Mr. Cushing said. It wasn’t really a question, but Jon responded to it anyway.
“Kind of a lot, yeah,” he said.
“Hopefully this is the last time, though,” Jordan added. “I don’t think there are any other powers I can get. Unless Dad is keeping something else from us.”
“So you have all the same powers as Superman now,” Mr. Cushing said. Again, it wasn’t really a question. And he wasn’t looking at Jordan when he said it.
“Yeah,” Jordan sat. He spat into the sink again. “Not really very impressive right now, though.”
Mr. Cushing held Jon’s eyes. He didn’t look angry or afraid anymore. He still looked a little overwhelmed, sure, but there was something else there—something like understanding, maybe. When he knelt down to gently take the dustpan from Jon, Jon recognized it as respect.
“Well, I’m pretty impressed, at least,” he said.
Jon’s shoulders squared almost on their own. Both men stood at the same time, Mr. Cushing still holding the dustpan and broom.
“Thank you, sir,” Jon said.
Mr. Cushing smirked at him a little. “I think that after all this tonight, you’d better call me Kyle.”