Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“So you’re the editor of the Torch?”

Chrissy leans back in her chair at the Gazette, clipboard at the ready. When she and Lois had discussed bringing on additional help, part-time high school students weren’t exactly what they’d had in mind. But with the pickings being so slim, she’s decided to at least hear this one out.

“Yes, ma’am. I wrote for the paper last year, and just took over as editor this summer.” Jay Nakamura does present well, Chrissy has to begrudgingly admit – he’s well-dressed, with a pink patterned tie matching his vibrant hair, and his entire aura is just casual politeness.

“I was the editor there my senior year. Loved it.” Chrissy holds up one of the high school’s papers, The Torch written across the top. “I’ve read some of your work. You somehow manage to make updated gym mats sound… vaguely interesting.” Too late, she realizes that sounds like a backhanded compliment. She tries to course correct. “I just mean – you seem to do well with what you have to work with.”

Thankfully, Jay doesn’t seem to take offense. “Thank you. I was hoping with the Gazette, I could maybe work on slightly bigger stories?”

Chrissy blinks. “You know the Superman story last year was a fluke, right? Nothing that exciting is ever gonna happen in Smallville again.”

Jay shrugs a little. “A guy can dream. Besides, I’d love the chance for any real world journalism experience, even if it’s just–”

The jingling of the front door interrupts him, and Lois Lane barges inside, looking as if there’s a storm cloud hovering above her. Immediately, Jay’s eyes widen. Chrissy knows that look – it’s adorned her own face far too often. Jay must be a fellow admirer of Lois Lane.

“Lois, this is our 9:30–”

But before she can even finish, Jay is on his feet, halfway across the office, hand eagerly outstretched. “Hi, I’m Jay.”

Lois accepts the handshake, and Chrissy knows her well enough to recognize that her smile is forced. “Right, the student. Thank you for coming in. We’ll be in touch.”

Jay visibly deflates, the starstruck expression gradually fading. He opens his mouth to respond, but Lois is holding the door open for him, so he takes the hint. “Well… thank you for your time. Um… bye.” And he slinks out like a dog with its tail between its legs.

The moment he’s gone, Lois turns to Chrissy, all traces of her smile gone. “If the rest of the interviews we have lined up for today are more like him, then cancel.”

“Lois, you didn’t even talk to him.”

“I didn’t need to. He’s fifteen. We need a full-time professional, not a kid who needs babysitting.”

“He’s not that helpless,” Chrissy protests. “And it’s better to have someone for a few hours a week than not have anyone at all. Besides, you haven’t liked a single person I’ve brought in for the past month.”

“That is correct, because none of them were good enough.”

“They were the best available!” Chrissy sighs, stepping closer. “Look, we’re gonna have to compromise on something, or we’re never gonna get another reporter in here. And we need help. Badly.”

Lois huffs, then relents. “Fine. But no high schoolers.”

“Fine.”

Paper cups have an odd texture.

That’s all Jonathan can really think about, because that’s all he has to do. The rest of the football team is practicing, switching off, working up a sweat. Jon, on the other hand, is stuck on the bench, with only his sports bag and the water station for company. Coach Gaines’ whistle momentarily cuts through his thoughts, and he looks up hopefully… but he’s just calling Timmy over for something. Great. With a frustrated sigh, Jon crumples up the cup in his hand and tosses it aside.

A shadow briefly cuts across him, and he looks up to see his dad, decked from head to toe in Smallville Crows merch. Clark loves to represent the football team as often as possible, even if neither of his sons are star players anymore. In fact, Jon’s a bit surprised he came back on as assistant coach when Jordan didn’t rejoin the team… but it is sort of nice that he’s trying to be involved.

“You alright?” Clark asks, taking a seat beside him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jon replies, kicking aimlessly at a clump of dirt. “It’s just… I joined the football team thinking I’d actually get to play some football.”

Clark nods a little. “I’m sorry you’ve been stuck riding the bench.”

“Did you talk to Coach Gaines?”

“I did. He’s just easing you back into things.”

“Okay, but we’ve been practicing for two weeks. And he’s put me on the field once .”

Clark offers a sort of helpless shrug. “You did break your arm twice last year. He’s just looking out for you.”

Right. That. Jon huffs. “Look, I might not have–” He catches himself, glancing around for a moment before lowering his voice. “I might not have super-strength, or whatever, but you don’t have to treat me like I’m made of glass.”

He can see that one landed. Clark looks away, considering. “Tell you what. Why don’t you ask if–?”

Whatever suggestion he’s about to make is cut off by his familiar head-tilt. Superman hears something.

Jon can’t help but let out a quiet sigh. “Dad?”

“I have to go. We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.” Jon can have as much of Clark’s attention as he wants, but never any of Superman’s. Clark is already power-walking away, nearly crashing into a cheerleader in his haste. As his dad’s awkward apologies grow quieter and quieter, Jon just stares at the crumpled cup again, lonely and forgotten on the sidelines.

Practice is almost over. Clark isn’t back yet. After fully unwinding the paper cup into a flat sheet, Jon finally just rips it in half and tosses it aside. Looks like today is a wash, just like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before…

“This seat taken?”

Jon doesn’t recognize the voice. He turns and squints up at its owner – a vaguely familiar-looking kid about his own age, bright pink hair, bright orange hoodie, dark glasses. Most of the stadium is empty, so why he wants to sit right next to him, Jon can’t say. But not wanting to be rude, he replies, “Nope. All yours.” As he sits, Jon asks, “You’re the paper guy, right? I’ve seen you around.”

“Yeah. I'm Jay.” He offers a somewhat formal handshake.

After a beat, Jon accepts. “Jon Kent.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Mhm.” Jay pulls a notebook from his bag. “Sorry, I’m not trying to be creepy or anything. I just make it my business to know everything that goes on around here. It’s hard to be a good journalist otherwise.”

That makes Jon chuckle. “You should meet my mom.”

Jay’s expression falters a little. “I… did, actually. I interviewed for a part-time job at the Gazette earlier today. She sort of… brushed me off.”

Ah. “Did she really?” Jay hums a ‘yes,’ and Jon can practically feel the disappointment coming off him in waves. Lois has been snippy ever since John Henry’s daughter turned up from the other Earth – not that Jon can tell him that, of course. “Well… try not to take it personally. She hasn’t really been herself lately.”

He isn’t really expecting much of a response to that, but Jay turns to him with a genuinely concerned expression. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, totally, totally.” Jon quickly tries to wave it off. “Just family stuff. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, I do.”

The remark is quiet, with an understanding to it that twists Jon's gut just a hair. But he’s not particularly in the mood for a full heart-to-heart with this guy he’s just met, so he attempts a redirect. “So, you writing a story about the football team or something?”

“Sort of.” Jay opens up his notebook, to a page which is mostly blank. “I’m trying to get player interviews for the Homecoming edition of the Torch.”

“Trying to?”

“Well, Timmy just shot me down pretty hard, and everyone around him laughed, so… I'm guessing they're also a no.”

Jon looks across the field, where Timmy is nodding a lot as Coach Gaines walks him through a play. “Eh, probably for the best. Talking isn’t really Timmy’s thing.”

Jay chuckles to himself, before looking at Jon curiously. “Well, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Would you be willing to do an interview?”

Jon just stares for a long moment, then tries to gently laugh it off. “Hey man, I would, but I’ve been on this bench for a week. I’m probably not your best option.”

“Why not? You’re still on the team. You know the players.”

“I mean, yeah, but–”

“And you transferred from the best team in the state last year. I’d say that gives you a unique perspective.”

A unique perspective? “Wait, how do you know where I transferred from?”

Jay grins. “I told you, I know everything that goes on around here. What do you say? It’ll take fifteen minutes. Tops.”

Something about the way Jay is looking at him makes Jon feel like he’s fixed in place. “You’re sure you don’t want to ask someone else first?”

“I’m asking you.”

“I…” Jon looks out over the field, considering, then relents. “I guess I could answer a couple questions, yeah.”

“Great.” Jay jots it down into his notebook. “Could you come by the Torch office after practice? It’s across from the band room.”

Already somewhat regretting it, Jon replies, “Yeah, alright.”

“Then I will see you then.” Jay stands, stopping for just a moment to scoop up the discarded pieces of paper cup and tuck them into his pocket. “Thanks, Jon.”

“Sure, yeah.”

Jay smiles – he has a nice smile, Jon notes – before heading away from the field, his notebook clutched to his chest.

Practice concludes unremarkably. For a brief second, Jon thinks he might be getting a chance to join in when he hears Coach Gaines yell his name… but he just wants help moving the practice dummies. Fine. Whatever.

Normally he’d just head home right after practice, but for reasons he cannot comprehend, he’s agreed to an interview for the Torch. The more he thinks about it, the more he’s confused why he said yes. But he’s not one to back out on his promises, so once he’s finished changing out of his uniform, he makes way into the school.

The halls are a bit eerie during the summer – completely empty, bare walls lit only by a handful of emergency lights. It doesn’t help that Jon isn’t normally in this part of the building... but this is evidently where the Torch’s office is located. He spots it after a moment, opposite the band room like Jay said, tucked into an awkward little corner by the restroom.

Somewhat hesitantly, Jon opens the door and peeks his head inside. It’s not a big room, but he immediately gets the impression that it probably should be. Lining one wall is a row of box computers that look like they haven’t been updated in twenty years. A pair of dusty copy machines sit in the corner, beside a shelf packed with stacks of old yearbooks, some framed headlines of Torch and Gazette papers – one with a photo of Superman from last year – as well as a couple trophies that the school paper apparently earned back in the 90s. The rest of the room is stuffed with a frankly concerning amount of file cabinets.

Between the clutter and the low light, it’s almost hard to spot Jay in here, but he does after a moment – bent over one of the far computers, muttering to himself. “Oh come on, I’ve never needed admin privileges for this before…”

When Jon realizes Jay has no idea he’s there, he awkwardly raps his knuckles against the door frame.

“Oh!” Jay straightens up and turns around. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“S’fine. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah… I always have issues with these computers. They refuse to ever get me new ones. That’s okay, though…” He grabs some paper from the copier, along with a clipboard and a pen, then plops himself down into one of the rolly chairs. “We can do this old-school.”

“...and you said my mom wasn’t impressed?” That’s exactly what Lois Lane would’ve done.

Jay barely crushes a smile and nudges another chair over with his foot. “Here. I promise I’ll make it as painless as possible.”

After a moment to consider the floor space, or lack thereof, Jon sets his sports bag down on top of the filing cabinets before settling into the chair. “I should warn you, I haven’t really done one of these in a while.”

“Oh, you’ve done an interview before?”

“Yeah, once. Back in Metropolis.”

“Well that… is a good place to start.” Jay clicks his pen and looks at him expectantly. “You moved here from Metropolis about a year ago. How come?”

Great, he has to lie for the very first question. He’s gotten used to the white lies at this point, though, so it rolls off his tongue pretty effortlessly. “Yeah, it was a few different things. My dad lost his job, my grandma passed and left him the house, and my parents just thought… we could use a change of pace. Be closer as a family, or something.”

“Are you? Closer?”

Jon thinks for a moment, then nods. “I think so.”

“And you’ve got a brother?”

“Jordan, yeah. We’re twins.”

“He used to be on the team too, right? But he quit?”

“Yep.” Jon gestures vaguely, more white lies just slipping right out. “He’s got some health things – playing didn’t really work for him.”

Jay nods a little. “I heard you were set to be quarterback for the Spartans.”

“Yeah…” That was practically a lifetime ago. “Doesn’t really matter. We moved here before I could start.”

“As a freshman, though… you must be good.”

He shrugs. “I’m alright.”

Jay raises an eyebrow. “Just alright?”

“Yeah. I mean… I don’t want to brag.” Or fixate on this. Can he change the subject?

“It’s not bragging to know how good you are.”

Huh. No one’s ever told him that before. “...yeah, I guess I was pretty good. But, you know, things change. The Crows didn’t need a new quarterback. And that’s fine. I was never, like… expecting to just have it handed to me. I just want a chance to help out the team.” He can’t help it – the frustration seeps into his tone, just a little.

And Jay, ever observant, picks up on it. “Do you feel like you’re getting that chance?”

The answer is no, but Jon’s not about to start bad-mouthing the coach somewhere it might get published. “I mean… there’s a lot of players, we can’t all be on the field all the time… someone’s gotta warm the bench sometimes. Plus, I broke my arm twice last year. Gotta be careful not to overdo it, y’know?”

Jay stops writing. “You’re allowed to be honest, Jon.”

Jon flounders for a moment. “Look, I… I’m happy to help with your article, or whatever. I just don’t really want to talk about… that.” Man, he’s making a mess of this interview, isn’t he? He fixes his gaze on the floor. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I didn’t mean to push.” Jay looks at his notes for a second, then sets the clipboard aside. “I get it, actually. I, uh… last year, I won this big internship at the Daily Planet.”

Curious, Jon lifts his head. “Wait, the Junior Journalist thing?” When Jay nods, Jon continues, “My mom did that her senior year. Isn’t it crazy hard to get in?”

Another nod. “Hundreds of applicants every year, only two spots… and I got one of them. I figured it was my big break. I’d finally get out of Smallville, get to work on something really impactful. Even get some recognition. And then, uh…” He hesitates. “My mom died.”

Oh. Jon sits up a little. “...I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. And, uh, I couldn’t leave my dad here by himself, so… I turned it down. Let the next person in line have it.”

Something twists in Jon’s gut. He remembers that feeling so well – watching that incredible opportunity just slip away, just because you feel an obligation to something else. After a moment, he quietly replies, “That really sucks.”

Jay hums noncommittally. “So anyway… I do get it. Feeling like you missed your chance. And not being sure if you’ll get it back.” He leans forward a little, looking at Jon seriously. “And I promise I won’t put a word of this in the Torch if you’re not comfortable with it.”

For most of this conversation, Jon has been looking at Jay’s hair. It’s sort of the first thing you notice about him – pink hair definitely makes a statement. But now, he actually meets Jay’s eyes. They’re extremely dark, and warm. He breaks the gaze after a long moment, softly replying, “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Jay picks up his notes again. “Why don’t we keep it simple. What’s your favorite thing about being on the football team?”

“Uhh…” Jon considers for a moment, and settles on, “The other guys, I guess. It’s hard moving to a new town and not knowing anyone. But they’ve been really cool about it.” Most of them, anyway.

“Awesome.” Jay scribbles something down. “Anything you want the Granville Bulldogs to know before Homecoming night?”

With a bit of a smirk, Jon replies, “That we’ll kick their asses, obviously.”

“Absolutely.” Jay clicks his pen closed and sets the clipboard into his lap. “There. Told you I’d make it painless.”

“Yeah, yeah. Not so bad,” Jon relents. “That all you needed?”

“Yep. I’ll badger someone else into giving me a couple quotes, too.”

Jon stands and reaches for his bag. “Wellnitz would probably do it for ten bucks."

“Duly noted. Thanks, by the way. I… kinda thought you’d ghost me, if I’m being honest. Happens way more often than you’d think.”

That's a feeling Jon has learned all too well over the past year. “Nah, that's not me. It’s no problem.” He stops in the doorway, looking back at Jay as starts fussing with the computer again. Unsure what to say, he finally settles on, “See ya around.”

Jay glances back with a grin. “See ya.”

He really does have a nice smile, Jon thinks again, before shrugging off the thought and heading off towards home.

Chapter Text

Due to the start of the school year, there isn’t any football practice today… but that doesn’t mean the players just do nothing. Most of them spend their flex period in the weight room. And unfortunately, Jonathan shares a flex period with Timmy Ryan.

Timmy hadn’t been so bad last year. But ever since the summer, something’s changed. He has this newfound arrogance, a cocksure attitude that makes him deeply unpleasant to be around. And the infuriating part is, it’s not completely unwarranted. He’s been outclassing the rest of the team by a country mile – whatever a country mile is. Either he’d put in a ton of extra practice over the summer… or it’s something else.

Watching Timmy in the weight room now, Jon is genuinely starting to suspect something else. Timmy’s always been strong. All brawn and very little brain. But benching three hundred pounds like it’s nothing? That’s just weird .

A couple other players circle Timmy, hooting and hollering to cheer him on, before he drops the weight with a dramatic flourish. The entire school will hear him bragging at this rate. But Jon does his best to ignore the whole thing, setting his gaze firmly in front of him and silently continuing his reps until it’s time to hit the showers.

At the end of the day, Jon opens his locker and unceremoniously starts pulling things out. It’s honestly a relief to just be going straight home today – he doesn’t have to spend all his time fixating on the grass and listening to Timmy get all the glory. Instead… he pulls out his phone and shoots a text to his brother.

JORDAN - SENT 3:32 PM: mom’s working late, pizza and madden?

Then, as he’s wrestling his algebra textbook into his bag, he hears a quiet, familiar voice. “Hey.”

Jon peers around his locker door to see Jay on the other side. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Just thought you’d like to see.” Jay holds out a copy of The Torch, Homecoming Edition. “Page two. Just a couple quotes from you, but I still appreciate it.” As Jon takes the paper and curiously flips through it, Jay adds, “You were wrong, by the way. Wellnitz did it for five.”

Jon chuckles, then reaches for his pocket again when his phone buzzes. “Glad I could help. This is cool.”

“Maybe I’ll borrow you for something again. If you’re up for it, I mean.”

“Yeah…” The reply comes out unthinkingly, without much force behind it. Jon’s just seen the reply from Jordan.

JORDAN - RECEIVED 3:47 PM: helping dad w something

JORDAN - RECEIVED 3:48 PM: sorry

So Mom is busy investigating the earthquakes with John Henry. Dad is busy with Superman stuff. And now apparently Jordan has to go be Superboy. Suddenly, that quiet evening at home is sounding a lot less appealing. For a few seconds all he can do is stare at the screen, processing.

The disappointment must be evident on his face, because after a moment, Jay gently prompts, “You okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, totally.” Jon stuffs his phone back into his pocket without sending a reply.

Unfortunately, Jay doesn’t look like he buys it. “...family stuff?”

“Something like that.” For a moment, Jon thinks he might be sniffing for a story – he’s seen his mom get that way many times – but he dismisses the idea just as quickly. Jay just doesn’t seem the type. Instead, he looks genuinely concerned, to the point where Jon feels the need to reassure him a little. “It’s nothing that serious. Don’t worry about it.”

Jay nods a little, still seeming unconvinced, but he doesn’t press it. “Alright.” He turns to leave… then stops to glance back at him. “Listen, I was gonna head to Vicky May’s in a bit. They have those crazy milkshakes this week. If… I don’t know, if you’re not doing anything else, maybe… you could tag along. If you wanted to.”

That… doesn’t sound half bad, actually. Jon considers the options – a quiet house with no company, or milkshakes with a… someone. Would Jay be a friend? An acquaintance? Either way, he doesn’t hate the idea.

“Yeah, alright,” he replies after a long moment, and Jay grins.

“Great! I just have to grab something from the Torch – meet you out front in five?”

“Sure, cool.” He finishes stuffing things into his bag, listening to Jay disappear in the crowd of the hallway, before heading outside to wait for him.

“Holy shit.”

Jon honestly hadn’t known what crazy milkshakes Jay had been referring to, but now he’s wondering how he possibly missed these. They’re served up in enormous glasses – Jon’s with two entire toasted marshmallows on top, Jay’s with freshly-baked cookies stuck on the rim of the glass.

“I told you!” Jay gleefully pulls his closer, thanking the waitress before she leaves. “You don’t even need to order actual food. This’ll fill you up for about a month.”

“Honestly… probably worth it.” He chuckles and picks up his spoon, debating the best place to start, but gets distracted as Jay works a small pill bottle out from his bag.

“Lactaid,” Jay explains, not even looking up. “Or I will vomit all over this table, and absolutely no one wants that.”

“Yeah, good call.” He carefully dips the spoon in, takes a bite, and hums approval, nodding emphatically. “Why haven’t I seen these on the menu before?”

“They only have ‘em in the summer. No one wants an enormous milkshake when it’s snowing out.”

“...sometimes I do.”

Jay laughs. “Yeah, me too.”

They drink their milkshakes in silence for a minute. Jon aimlessly flips through The Torch on the table beside him – honestly, he’s never even opened one of the school papers before, just skimmed the front page before throwing it away. It’s much more in-depth than he’d realized. There’s the story covering the upcoming game, of course, but also an overview of the band program, an interview with a recent graduate who’d won a big college grant, a column of fun facts about the teachers…

As he looks everything over, one item keeps standing out. “Dude, did you write this entire paper? Your name’s on like, all of these.”

Jay swallows. “Not all of it… but a lot of it, yeah. We’re pretty understaffed.”

“When do you even have time for all this? Do you do anything besides write?”

“I sleep. Occasionally.” Jay smiles. “Nah, I don’t really mind. I enjoy writing. Besides, I want to be a journalist one day, so it’s all good experience.”

“I feel like you’re already a journalist,” Jon remarks. “Just based on this.”

Immediately, Jay shakes his head. “Maybe, but stories about the football team aren’t really what I want to be working on. No offense.”

“None taken. So what do you want to be working on?”

“Bigger things,” Jay admits. “I want to spotlight the people who don’t get much recognition. Bring attention to people who need help. That kind of thing. Honestly, like your mom. She’s sort of my hero.”

That last statement lodges itself in Jon’s head, and that all-too-familiar sinking feeling begins. It’s always about his mom, or his dad, or his brother, or his grandpa – never just about him . It was why he and Tegan had never worked out – despite her best efforts, she could never stop asking those questions. He turns his head away, not wanting to meet Jay’s eyes. “So, uh… is that why you’re here? ‘Cause of my mom?”

“Hm?” Jay looks lost for a moment, then gasps as it clicks. “Oh! God, no. No. Sorry. I mean – yes, I think your mom is awesome. But that’s not – no, I swear I’m not just trying to use you to get to her, or anything. I just thought you seemed cool, and maybe a little lonely, and I thought… I don’t know. We could hang out. I’m sorry if… I’m sorry.”

Ah, hell. One glance back at Jay’s big, sad, dark eyes makes Jon regret everything he’s ever said to him. He’s just a genuinely nice guy, and here Jon is accusing him of… whatever. He sighs and shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. I just…”

God, should he really get into this with a guy he barely knows? But somehow, looking at Jay’s genuine expression, he somehow just knows he’ll get it. That it’s safe. “My whole family is off doing other stuff tonight. And it’s all important, it’s not like I can ask them not to do it. But… I don’t know. I guess I wish someone had thought about me.”

Jay nods a little. “That’s not fair.”

Jon just shrugs. “It’s my life. Anyway, I thought you might just be… I’m a jerk. I’m sorry.”

“You are absolutely not a jerk. And I promise I’m not here because of your mom. Alright? I won’t even mention her again if you don’t want me to.”

“No, no, don’t…” Now he feels like he’s made a big fuss over nothing. “Let’s just forget about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

Jon leans forward to take a sip of his milkshake, waiting for the awkward moment to pass… and thankfully, something on the last page of the Torch gives him a good excuse to change the subject. “You wrote a story about the Shuster Mines?”

“Mhm. It’s pretty interesting actually, it’s got a weird history.”

“Yeah, but… they let you put that in the school paper?”

“Like I said, we’re understaffed. So I sort of get free rein on what goes in there.”

“So what’s so interesting about the mines?”

“Well, that’s what you read the article for,” Jay teases, reaching over to tap the words with his finger. “But since you’re here, I could give you the cliffnotes. So the mines were first opened in 1938, and all this wild shit happened on day one. So the owner, Shuster there, thought the place had to be haunted…”

He keeps talking, going on to talk about Shuster’s family, his business partners, with things getting weirded and weirder. The further into it he goes, the more animated he becomes. Jon mostly just sits back and listens, wishing his teachers could be half as interesting as this, though he does occasionally interject with a question.

Jon is genuinely unaware how long they’ve been there, until Jay reaches out to take his check from the table – the waitress must have dropped them off a while ago. And the street lamps outside have just turned on. “You gotta go?”

“Yeah, sorry. I have some things to work on.”

Jon nods, ignoring the sudden pang of disappointment. “No, I should… go home. Thanks, though. For… you know. I thought I was gonna spend the whole afternoon by myself.”

“Anytime. Seriously – if that happens again, just text me.”

“I don’t have your number.”

Jay holds out his hand expectantly. After a second, Jon digs out his phone, unlocks it, and passes it over for Jay to enter in his information. “And now you do.”

“Thanks...” Jon glances at the contact info for a moment, then tucks his phone back into his pocket. Jay slides out of the booth to take his check over to the counter, then turns and gives Jon a mini wave goodbye – which Jon returns with a little smile and up-nod. He might actually text him sometime… and not just because he has nothing better to do.

Chapter Text

Jon's never really seen Clark lose his temper. Frustrated, sure. But his dad has always been laid back, mild-mannered, difficult to truly upset. He's always been… safe.

So seeing him shout at Jordan, eyes flashing crimson, has rattled Jon more than he'd like to admit.

Lois had taken charge, the way she usually does — bustling past, gathering all the kids into the car, doing her very best to make it feel like a normal day at school. But there's a disquiet hanging over the entire drive. They all know something's wrong with Clark. They just won't say it.

Natalie bolts pretty much as soon as Lois pulls up to the school. "Nat—" Jon tries to start, but she's already gone. After how her mom had died, seeing another Superman start to lose control of his heat vision is probably way too much.

So she's not doing great. Jon turns to Jordan as he gets out of the car, but his brother is already halfway up the steps, pointedly looking straight ahead. Not doing great either.

Suddenly, the school day seems rather daunting. He glances back at his mom in the driver's seat, who offers him a small, joyless smile. "I have to go check on your father."

"Is he okay? I've never seen him…"

Lois sighs. "I know. I will go talk to him. We'll figure this out. Promise."

Jon nods a little before closing the passenger door. Moments later, Lois is driving off.

As Jon makes his way up the steps into the school, a familiar, bright-haired figure emerges from the crowd to join him. "Hey."

"Hey," Jon replies, with a tone so lackluster that Jay immediately frowns.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." Jon's starting to hate how easily that little lie just slips out. When's the last time he truly felt okay? Can he even remember?

"You sure? Cause I just saw your brother, and he sort of looked like he wanted to cry. And you… aren't looking much better."

Jon sighs. "It's just more family stuff. I'm sorry, I can't really talk about it."

Jay opens his mouth to reply, but before he can say anything, someone bumps right into him, giving him a good nudge with their backpack. "There he is. QB Two." Timmy puts entirely too much emphasis on the two, as if to drive home that Jon truly is second place. "Coach is sending out the lineup tonight. What do you think — should he just write bench next to your name?"

Beside him, Wellnitz and Sean laugh. Jon just scowls. "Shut up, Timmy." He goes over to his locker to start fussing with the lock, hoping against hope that they'll leave. But of course, he has no such luck.

"When are you going to accept it, Kent? You're out of your league."

"Shut up, Timmy!" Jon slams his hand against the locker and glares at him. The metallic clang is loud enough to make a few nearby heads turn, but Jon pays them no mind, instead stepping in closer to Timmy to whisper, "I know you're on something."

That doesn't have quite the effect he's hoping for. Timmy just laughs. "Are you really that desperate to beat me?"

"Jon…" Jay tries to cut in, but Jon ignores him.

"I'll prove it." He doesn't even bother getting anything out of his locker, just storms off. Timmy and the group's laughter gradually fades away, while frantic footsteps trail along after him.

"Jon," Jay attempts again, and this time, Jon stops to turn to him.

"I really hate that guy, you know that?"

"I know. You can't let him get to you."

"Get to me? He's cheating. And he's a huge dick. Of course he gets to me." Jon huffs, trying to get himself under control. Too many things happening today, and it's not even 8am. He runs his hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose in anticipation of the inevitable headache that's coming. How can he prove what Timmy's doing? How is he supposed to figure that out?

Which is when an idea dawns on him. He lowers his hand to look over at Jay. "Hey, you know everything about everything around here. Right?"

"I like to think so," Jay replies, not quite following.

"So you can help me figure out what steroid Timmy's taking."

"He's not taking any steroids." The response is so immediate, so absolutely certain, that Jon blinks in surprise.

"What do you mean? Of course he is. How else did he get that good, that fast?"

"I don't know." Jay, usually the king of unwavering eye contact, has his gaze fixed on the nearby lockers.

"Okay, but you could find out better than I can," Jon insists. "I'll pay you, if you want."

"No, no, don't." Jay's still not quite looking at him. "Look, I really don't think you should be fixating on this."

"I am not fixating," Jon protests, painfully aware of how it sounds. "I know I'm right. Please."

Jay sighs. "…I can ask around. But if I don't find anything, will you drop it?"

"I…" Jon hesitates. "Yeah. I'll try."

"Okay. Then I'll let you know what I find."

The bell rings. Jay glances up him for just a moment, forcing a little smile before scurrying off to first period. And Jon gets the distinct impression that he's not having a good day, either.

Football practice is a disaster.

Coach Gaines actually does let Jon play — but he's still so riled up that he completely fumbles his first pass. The ball skitters across the ground, and Jon doesn't even wait for the sharp remark after the whistle. He just takes himself off the field, knowing he's completely blown it.

He scowls as he makes his way over to the sidelines, practically feeling his dad's concerned eyes fixed on him. Clark actually turned up for practice, apparently feeling more like himself, but Jon still finds himself keeping a wary distance as he heads for the water cart.

Of course, Timmy's already there. And Timmy's never known when to shut the hell up. "Tough break, Kent." Jon has never wanted to wipe a grin of someone's face more badly. "You think Coach really wants a QB who can't make a simple pass?"

Jon does his best to ignore him, filling his water cup. But Timmy isn't done.

"You know, this is getting so pathetic, I'm starting to actually feel bad for you now. So I think I'll let you in on a little secret." Timmy leans in close, dropping his voice to the faintest whisper. "It's not drugs."

Wait. What? It's not drugs. But it's still… something?

His stone-faced expression falters, and Timmy spots it instantly, seizing the moment. "So there's nothing you can do about it. Just face it — you might have been some hotshot in Metropolis, but here? You'll never be anything."

Something twists in Jon's gut, and the next thing he knows, he's punched Timmy full across the face.

Timmy staggers back, a hand clutched to his cheek. He stares with wide eyes for a moment — then surges forward with a shout. Jon barely ducks out of the way of his fist, before grabbing a handful of his jersey to fend him off. It's all blind rage and chaos. Some of the other players and cheerleaders circle around them, shouting. Timmy manages to momentarily sink a knee into Jon's stomach. Jon shoves him away, winding up for another hit —

And then his dad is there.

For a split second, it's like Jon's just punched a brick wall — there's absolutely no resistance in Clark's face. Then Clark turns his head, following the movement, letting the blow knock him fully prone.

Clark flails awkwardly on the ground, looking like an overturned turtle. He's definitely faking, though Jon's probably the only one who can tell. One of the cheerleaders makes a noise of concern, which Clark waves off with a quick, "I'm good, I'm good." He lifts his eyes to Jon — who suddenly realizes just how much trouble he is about to be in.

Clark staggers to his feet, grabs Jon by the front of his jersey, and unceremoniously hauls him off the field. "Dad—" Jon tries to explain, but Clark is absolutely not hearing it, steering them brusquely towards the locker room. "Dad, I'm sorry—"

But Clark cuts him off, finally releasing him with a little push ahead. "Get in there." The instant the door shuts behind them, Clark snaps, "What is wrong with you?"

"It was Timmy—"

"I don't care!" Jon's never seen his dad carry himself like this before. Like he's ready to pick a fight with the next person who talks to him. "You don't just last out at people like that!"

"Timmy's cheating!" Jon snaps. "I should've been the one out there!"

"Then act like it!!" For that second time that day, Clark's voice drops to an almost demonic roar. His eyes light up scarlet, like his rage is ready to burst at the seams.

Jon staggers back against the wall. "Dad…"

But Clark has just caught himself. He steps back, saying sharply, "Jonathan, get out of here."

"Dad…?" Jon asks, confused, but Clark roars again.

"Out!!" Clark drops to a knee, frantically pulling his glasses off. It's just in time — the heat erupts from his eyes, pouring out towards the floor. He lifts his hands to catch it, crying out as the blaze scorches his skin.

Jon remains pressed against the wall, his heart racing. What the hell is happening?

After ten long seconds, Clark's heat vision sputters to a stop. He's staring at his own palms, gasping for breath, processing the newfound blisters there.

Something is very, very wrong. Jon hesitantly steps forward, all thoughts of Timmy forgotten for the moment. "Dad, we need to go home. Now."

Clark slowly turns his head, staring at Jon with wide eyes, then nods a little.

Apparently, Clark's emotions are being affected by whatever's causing his weird visions. He offers both his sons an apology, which Jon accepts — but even knowing he's sincere, it's hard to get the image of his dad with those glowing red eyes out of his head.

Normally, Jon knows he would be in much more trouble for throwing a punch at someone. But considering everything else going on, it seems to just slip under the radar. Lois briefly takes him aside and tells him that if he ever starts a fight again, he'll be grounded for the rest of his natural life — and while it's absolutely terrifying, he also knows that he's getting off pretty easy. There's too much going on in the Kent household to worry about him.

By early evening, he's just about had it with the entire day. Since Natalie's using his bedroom, there's not really a good spot to shut himself away, so he takes his biology textbook and curls up in one of the wicker chairs on the porch.

When his phone buzzes, he glances down to check the notification. An email from Coach Gaines. He can see the first couple lines right there from the pop-up… no need to bother checking the rest. He's seen all he needs to see. With a huff, he shoves the phone into his pocket.

"Everything okay?" Jon almost jumps — he hadn't even heard Jordan come outside.

"Not really," he replies, as Jordan settles into the chair beside him. "Coach Gaines just sent out the starting lineup, and Timmy's our quarterback, so…"

"I'm sorry. That sucks." Jordan looks over at him sympathetically. "You still think he's juicing?"

"Yeah, he told me himself."

"Seriously? He's that dumb?"

"He said I wouldn't be able to do anything about it, cause it wasn't drugs."

Jordan's lost. "So he's not taking anything?"

"It's gotta be something," Jon insists. "I just… I don't get it."

"Look," Jordan begins, hesitantly. "I think you need to stop obsessing over Timmy. It's not, like… healthy."

"Not healthy?" Jon turns to him, incredulous. "He's cheating."

"Maybe, yeah. I just think you might be taking this too far."

"So you think I should just let him get away with it?"

"I think there's still time to show Coach Gaines what you can do. And then you can kick Timmy's ass."

God, Jordan's just as bad as Clark. "You would say that."

"What?"

"You think I just need to put myself out there, right? Like you did?"

"Well, yeah—"

"Except you've got your little super powers. You got everything handed to you. Some of us actually have to try. And for some of us, it's still not enough."

Silence falls over the porch, broken only by chirping crickets and rustling wind. Jordan's not looking at him. Jon probably owes him an apology… but he just doesn't have one in him. Not right now. He gets up, tossing his book to the ground beside him. "Thanks, man. This was really helpful." Without a word, he heads down the porch steps and just starts walking. He needs time to think, and that clearly isn't going to happen at this house.

Jon's not really paying attention to where his feet are taking him. Instead, his mind just swirls with echoes of everything from this lousy day — Timmy's taunts, Clark's shouting, that stung look in Jordan's eye…

It's a bit of a surprise when he realizes the high school is looming in front of him. He must have instinctively fallen into the familiar. Gradually, he comes to a halt, not entirely sure this is where he wants to be. Until he spots a single light still on. A little window tucked into an awkward corner — it's the Torch office, with a faint flickering to show someone moving around inside.

Huh. What's Jay doing at the school so late? Maybe he should go see if everything's okay. Besides, his company doesn't sound half bad right now.

One of the front doors is propped open with a rock — he assumes Jay had done it so he could get in and out — so Jon slips inside, making his way around towards the arts hallway. He's halfway to the Torch office when he starts to make out voices. Jay's talking. "I told you, the price has gone up."

Jon slows down, trying to figure out who he's speaking to. And when he hears the response, he stops in his tracks.

"Come on, I don't have that much," Timmy whines. "You know my mom just lost her job."

"I can't — if you want more inhalers, you have to pay full price for them."

Inhalers? Holding his breath, Jon inches closer, stepping as lightly as possible, straining his ears for more.

"Well, maybe I'll just tell the police where they can find all their missing space rocks."

"You wouldn't do that." Jon can barely make out Jay's reply, it's so quiet.

"Not if you just give me what I paid for. A week's worth. Come on."

The room falls silent. Jon takes another half-step forward, trying to see through the little window on the office door, but all he can make out is Timmy's back.

"Fine," Jay finally says, and Jon hears some faint noises — zipping, rustling, faint clinks. "But this is the last time, okay? I mean it. It's full price from now on."

"Sure, whatever." Timmy's voice gets closer, and Jon suddenly realizes he's about to be caught eavesdropping. Frantically, he darts over to the nearby bathroom and ducks inside, just before Timmy steps out with a duffel bag over his shoulder. Jon peers out from the bathroom door, holding his breath until he's sure Timmy's fully rounded the corner.

So.

No wonder Jay hadn't wanted to help him. He'd barely been able to look in his direction that morning. The slimy little — how could he do that? How could he look Jon in the eye, say all those nice things about him, when he knew Timmy was stealing his spot? Even worse — he'd been helping him do it.

Jon had missed him, damn it. He'd come in here to spend some time with a friend, only to be greeted with this?

Is everything in his life doomed to just be lies?

He needs answers. Now. Stone-faced, he steps out of the bathroom, strides over to the open Torch door. Jay's leaned over the desk, putting some dollar bills into a bag, but he turns when he hears Jon approach — and instantly goes pale. "Jon—"

"So that's it? Timmy gets his drugs from you?"

"Jon, I can explain—"

"That's why you didn't want to help me. You didn't want to get caught."

"That's not—"

"And I bet you're making bank."

"No!" Jay replies, exasperated. "I mean — yes, it makes money. But it's not steroids. It's this mineral from the Shuster Mines."

It takes a second for that to sink in. "You're selling X-Kryptonite?"

Jay blinks, probably surprised Jon knows the name. "It's not dangerous, I swear. It just gives people a bit of a boost, and then—"

"It doesn't matter what it does! You lied to me. You lied right to my face."

"I'm sorry. I really am. I don't like this any more than you do."

"Then why do it?"

"You wouldn't understand."

Jon crosses his arms, glaring at him. "Try me."

Jay sighs and plops himself down into the nearest chair. "My mom was in and out of the hospital for almost two years before she died. Do you have any idea how much debt that left us in?" Jon opens his mouth, but Jay continues before he can say anything. "And my dad — he never finished high school, he's served time, and he's —" He cuts himself off, shaking his head. "No one will hire him. And I have tried everything, I took part-time jobs, I did freelancing, I gave up my semester in Metropolis — and it was never even close to enough."

"Why not just ask for help?"

"Ask who? The rest of Smallville isn't doing much better. And no one's tripping over themselves to help the Gamorran immigrants."

"So drugs are the only answer?"

"It's not a drug," Jay insists. "And… I hate doing it, I hated lying to you most of all. But it keeps a roof over our heads, when nothing else does. So what exactly was I supposed to do?"

Jon sulks, looking away. Cautiously, Jay leans forward. "Listen… I understand if you hate me, if you never want to talk to me again. I won't bother you. Just…" He hesitates. "Please don't tell anyone about this. I'll even — I'll give you some of the profit."

Oh. He should tell someone — he should take this right to his parents, so they can call Coach Gaines, the police, even Grandpa since X-K is involved. Then it would all be over. Timmy would be out, and Jon would have an honest shot at being quarterback again. Of course, Jay would probably be expelled. If not arrested. He tries to picture Jay in juvie — the image doesn't compute. Besides, there's no guarantee Coach Gaines would make him quarterback, not after his pitiful performance today.

That's when a new idea worms its way into the back of his head. There's another way to even the playing field, to bring him up to the same level as Timmy. To let him show everyone once and for all that he's worth something. He's not the kid from Metropolis who used to be somebody, the guy stuck on the bench, Superboy's useless kid brother.

It's cheating, sort of. But Timmy cheated first, so really, he's just evening the odds.

Besides, it's not that different than Jordan playing last year. Right?

He just wants to feel special again.

"I won't tell anyone," he finally says, and he hears Jay breathe a soft sigh of relief.

"Thank you. I — here, how much do you want?" Jay starts to reach for the bills Timmy gave him, but Jon immediately shakes his head.

"I don't want the money."

Jay pauses. "You don't?"

"No." Jon takes a moment to steel himself. "I want you to sell some to me, too."