Archive of Our Own

Jonathan Kent felt...weak. It was more than the exhaustion dragging on every inch of his body like weights hooked to flesh and sinew, more than the residual pain in his chest and the medication fogging his mind and trying to drag him back under. No, his weakness was the redness around his son's eyes, the shaky bravery on his wife's face, the doctor's carefully phrased concerns that beat down on his family.

God, Martha. Clark. And Kon, a stiff, silent shadow by the wall. Yet another strange, fey child, orphan, alien, and immediately his, Jonathan's own boy, stronger than any mere fluke of genetics. Kon, still holding himself just a little apart as if unsure of his right to be there, even though Jonathan would cut out his heart to protect this latest addition to their family.

Heh. Heart.

For a moment, Jonathan wished he had died, wished the heart attack had just killed him outright so he wouldn't have to face the helplessness and worry on his sons' faces, wouldn't have to see his wife trying to be strong, wouldn't have to hear the doctor's damning prognosis. Bed rest. Pills. A lengthy, incomplete recovery, and the specter of a second attack looming over all of them indefinitely.

What was a farmer who couldn't farm?

What good was a man who couldn't even be strong for his family?

He hated the thought almost immediately. A man could be strong in many ways, and he would not allow depression and despair to drag him down, or his family with him. He reached a hand out to cover Martha's where she gripped him white-knuckled. He faced the doctor and listened, and held his wife's hand until the man was done, and excusing himself from the room.

Of course, that would be when Lex god-damned Luthor strode through the door, looking as if he owned the place.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Jonathan didn't even realize he'd risen until he felt Clark's hands on his shoulders, that perfectly leashed, inhuman strength urging him back down to the hospital bed. He struggled a bit on principle and glared hatred at the newcomer.

"Jonathan, please. You need to stay calm." Martha sounded a little unsteady herself, and that just fueled Jonathan's anger.

"I'll stay calm when that murdering bastard gets the hell out of this room! Clark, call security. What the hell right does he think he has?"

"I called him."

Kon didn't quite flinch when Jonathan's head swung towards him but something in the boy's eyes made him dial his anger down, fast. Sixteen years old and afraid of losing someone he loved. Jonathan glanced once more at Luthor, then back at Kon. "Son." It was his best 'wise father' voice, calm and level. "I know you mean well, but our family has never done well getting tangled up with his type."

He didn't say 'Luthors.' Jonathan had stricken that word from his vocabulary the day Kon had entered the house, and he was proud that he had never broken the taboo. What Lex Luthor was had everything to do with the life he had led and the choices he had made and nothing to do with whatever genetics he might share with Kon.

Kon was a good boy, with a good heart, and Jonathan knew he was going to be a good man. The same way he had known with Clark, and had never doubted, had never feared even when his son had started wielding the kind of power that turned weak men wicked, and tempted even the strongest.

"There's a new treatment," Kon said, stubborn. "He can help."

"I don't want any help from him. That kind of help always comes with strings attached."

"No strings, Mr. Kent, just a signature." Luthor: always so smooth, so courteous, like a snake hiding its fangs. Jonathan wanted to climb out of the bed and belt the man. Damn, he felt weak and old, lying in a hospital bed while this man stood there looking arrogant and supercilious. Luthor gestured to a clipboard. "We've had very favorable results with this procedure. It's not even experimental. It's been in clinical trials by one of our subsidiaries for over a decade and is now in the final stages of the FDA approval process. Insurance companies won't cover it yet, but your treatment can be funded internally. The expense is negligible to LexCorp, and I can more than recoup the loss from the good PR."

Jonathan nearly snarled. "I don't take charity and I don't take anything from you."

Luthor remained infuriatingly professional and dispassionate. "Mr. Kent, I urge you to give this some consideration. It's irrational to decline a medical procedure based solely on the company that created it." Luthor held out the clipboard to him. "Please think about your family."

Jonathan didn't see the offered clipboard, just a slim white hand like a dead fish and a carved lead ring that he knew for a fact contained a concealed compartment of kryptonite. Knew for a fact had been turned on his boy, and more than once. His fury settled down into a low burn deep in his gut. He looked up and met those empty ice eyes easily. "I am thinking of my family, Mr. Luthor."

"Mrs. Kent?" Luthor tried, but that was the wrong tack and Jonathan knew it.

Martha looked at Jonathan, level and loving and so brave, and God he wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her again what it meant to him that she'd chosen him, stayed with him, stood by him. "Are you sure, Jonathan?"

He spoke softly to her like she was the only one in the room. In a way, hers was the only opinion that mattered. She understood, like no one else, why he didn't take favors from rich men with agendas. "I'll try any treatment that's available to the public and on our insurance, and that's all."

She closed her eyes and nodded, squeezing his hand fiercely. "As long as you're sure, Jon."

Clark's hand was tight on his shoulder, but he didn't say anything. Didn't try to argue Jonathan out of his decision, and his son could be every bit as stubborn as Jonathan when he wanted to be. Clark looked at Luthor and shook his head, shrugged his shoulders a little, and Jonathan watched the clipboard fall the rest way back to Luthor's side.

"No," Kon said. Jonathan sighed; he recognized that desperate stubbornness. This was the one that was going to hurt. "No. I want to talk to him. Alone, please."

Jonathan nodded at Clark, patted Martha's hand. "Go on and give us some space. I'm not going anywhere."

They got to their feet, and Jonathan thought it reminded him of a wake, how quiet everyone was.

Kon stopped Luthor at the door. He caught the edge of the clipboard. "Go ahead and call whoever you need. He'll sign."

Something sharp flashed in the gaze Luthor focused on Kon. The man paused a long time before he released the clipboard, looking almost like he wanted to warn the boy off something. Jonathan didn't like the way Kon was standing, all drawn into himself and cold as ice. They definitely needed to have a talk. Kon didn't even react to Clark's hand on his shoulder or Martha's quick kiss and hug as they followed Luthor reluctantly out the door. They were worried, too.

Jonathan waited until the door was closed. "Kon, son. Come here."

Kon stood a few seconds longer, looking at nothing in particular, as if he were seeing some internal vision play out before him. Jonathan felt his heart clench, not at all like the heart attack but that familiar feeling of worry and love for one of his boys. Kon walked over, and stood by Jonathan's side. Jonathan reached out and took his hand, wrapped it in his own, ignoring the way the clipboard came between them.

"Grandpa Jonathan," Kon said softly. "Please sign for the treatment."

"I'm not going to do that, Kon."

Kon flared up. "Lex isn't going to do anything, I promise! And Clark wouldn't let him and I won't let him, and--"

"Kon," Jonathan cut him off, gently as he could. "Even if that were true, even if I knew for a fact this would never come back around to bite me, I'd still say no. "

Kon sucked in a shaky breath.

"There's things a man can do and things a man can't. I've always stood on my own two feet and looked after my family and I'll go on doing that 'til the day I die." He almost regretted the words when Kon flinched and looked away, towards the floor, but some things needed to be said. "I'm sorry, son. I know you're scared, and I know you're hurting. I'm scared, too. And I'm not sure how to explain it so you'll understand. But this is the way it's got to be. I don't plan on going anywhere for a long while. But when I do it will be on my terms."

He didn't have any more words. He fell silent, watching the dark curls on the top of Kon's head, listening to the soft hum of the hospital machinery, thinking how very much Kon looked like Clark and how very different his two boys were. For a moment all he could see was Kon as he had been the day Clark had brought him home from that abandoned lab of Lionel's: half grown teenage boy and so bright, and so brave, and, down in the parts that didn't show, so very much more broken than Clark had ever been. Grandson by technicality only, but Jonathan's son, immediately. Had it really been only a year ago? He had grown so much. He wanted to be there to see the man Kon grew into. God, he really did. Give me time, give me time. Let me be strong for my family just a little longer.

Kon pulled his hand away. He looked up. Face shuttered and closed down as Jonathan had rarely seen him, eyes unreadable green, like the rocks that made his children sick. "Sign the paper," Kon said, and his voice was the hard uneven surface of a gravel road.

Jonathan's breath caught.

"I could leave. You couldn't stop me. I could just fly away and disappear. Or Lex could sue for custody. He'd win. Even if you could go to court without letting all the secrets out. He's got genetics and money on his side."

"Kon, did Luthor--" Jonathan barely got to start.

"He didn't do anything!" Kon's voice swelled startlingly loud and then dropped back down to low vehemence. "He didn't but I will. He'll file if I ask him to. And that's what I'll do if you don't sign these papers."

"Kon..." Jonathan didn't know where to start. He cursed the drugs that were making him slow and foggy, even as he blessed their artificial calmness. It was the only chance in hell he had of bypassing the smothering fear in his throat and thinking through this rationally. Because Kon was scared, too. And scared people made foolish choices.

As if to underscore his thoughts Kon spoke in low, fervent growl. "I'll do it. I'll tell him to. I'll go away and you will never see me again. What I won't do is just sit in that house and watch you die."

Jonathan let the tirade wash over him, and waited a few beats into the following silence before speaking. "You can't save everyone, son." That was something he'd told his boys often. It seemed a safe place to start.

Kon shrugged his shoulders, sluffing off the unwanted words. Every line of his body was written with tension and resolution. "Sign the paper."

"Sign...or else?" Jonathan asked quietly. "That's blackmail, son."

"Yes." Kon met his eyes, looking stubborn and angry and...hurt. Oh, my boy. "Sign it."

"We taught you better than that, Kon. You are better than that."

"Guess not," Kon said, trying so hard for indifference, and his facade cracking and wavering miserably all through.

"You are," Jonathan said, and he didn't have to feign absolute conviction. He knew his boys. "It's not going to work, son."

"I'll do it," Kon said, fierce again. "I will."

"No, you won't," Jonathan said. "You want to protect your family. I understand that. That's good; that's the very best thing there is. But protecting this family isn't your job, it's my job, and I have to do it the best way I know how."

Kon's eyes flickered away and back and away again.

God, let me get this right. For what was probably the millionth time, Jonathan wished his sons had come with some kind of guidebook. A farmer's guide to aliens. Maybe just teenagers in general. "Kon. You can't protect people by making their choices for them. Lord knows it's tempting sometimes. Sometimes it seems like it has to be the only thing to do, the only way to keep people safe. But you can't keep the world away from people."

He paused, gathered his thoughts and his words. Martha was the one who was good at talking the boys through things. Jonathan just muddled along as best he could. "I know--you know--hell, everyone knows that I didn't want you anywhere near Lex Luthor."

Kon's eyes flashed up to his, angry and tumultuous.

"I thought it was a mistake, your spending time with him, but it was your right to make that choice. A boy's got a right to know more about where he comes from. I never stopped Clark trying to find out more about his people and I'll never stop you. And I know you like him, and that's alright, too." And, damn, they had given him the good stuff. That hardly hurt to say at all. Just a little more unpleasant than the heart attack. "I also know you. Nothing's going to change who you are, not even spending time with someone I don't like too much. You'll work through it and be stronger for it." Jonathan took a breath. "But I won't accept help from that man. I won't have my family obligated to him."

"You'd rather die," Kon said, and his voice was venomous.

"I'd rather find my way through this one on my own the way thousands of other people do all across the country. Everyone has to die sooner or later, Kon. I hope my time is much later, but if it comes sooner I'll go knowing I always did my very best to be the best husband and the best father I know how to be. I will make the decisions I think are in my family’s best interest. I will keep my family safe." Jonathan reached a hand toward Kon, not quite able to touch him from this distance. "I hope you'll understand that, too, someday. I hope you'll believe it."

Kon's throat worked and the clipboard suddenly cracked in his hands. It fell away unheeded as he exploded. "I don't! I don't and it's not okay and I don't care what you want! I don't care what you believe! And I don't care if it's wrong or bad or--or selfish! I don't care!" He was almost screaming now. "It's not fair! I didn't get any time! They had you forever but I only just started and it's not fair; I want more time; it's not f-fair! "

Kon broke off on a gasp, stood trembling for only a moment, and suddenly whirled around, hiding his face against the wall. His hands were up by his face and his shoulders were hunched, shaking with fine, barely controlled tremors.

Crying. And trying desperately not to let Jonathan see.

He'd discussed it with Martha, the way the boy never let himself slip, not where they could see. Just smiled and laughed, and pretended nothing ever hurt, and slipped away at night, out of his bed, running from monsters in his past they hadn't figured out how to protect him from.

Didn't know how to make him feel safe, make him believe they'd always love him, never leave him, never judge him.

But he never cried, never complained, never let anyone see him weak, or needing, or afraid.

A lesson internalized early; the hardest kind to shake.

If Jonathan had had Lionel Luthor here in front of him right this moment, he could have killed him cheerfully and never felt a moment's regret. Good thing the man was already dead, the devil rot him. The man had never grasped, not even for an instant, what a treasure he had created in that fucking lab of his. Created and squandered, and thank god Kon was away from that now...

Away from it and...

Jonathan wondered just what the hell he thought he was doing. Kon wasn't ready to take on the world unprotected. He'd do it, sure, and put on a brave face and smile, and be strong for everyone. He'd do a good job, be a good man, Jonathan had no doubt. But he shouldn't have to. Not yet. Not when he'd never gotten to be a child and experience the security of unconditional love, experience it and really believe it.

He was right; it wasn't fair, and he did deserve more time, had every right to demand it if there was any way in Jonathan's power to give it to him. As if there was anything Jonathan wouldn't do for his family. What was he supposed to be protecting them from, anyway? Lex Luthor?

The man was already so tangled up in their secrets Jonathan doubted a scrap of paper and a signature could make a difference. He'd bet the farm Clark could take Luthor, any day. He was a grown man and he had resources now, and other powerful friends to lean on. Hell, he spent half his time tangling with Luthor anyway.

So what did that leave? His pride? Oh, yes. Jonathan Kent didn't take charity.

To hell with that. He wanted to be a man his sons could be proud of, not a proud man. He'd crawl through mud in a heartbeat for either one of his boys.

"Kon," Jonathan said, voice hoarse with emotion. "Son. Turn around."

Kon just trembled and hunched further into the wall, shaking his head in blind negation.

"Look at me, son."

Another head shake.

Jonathan winced and pushed himself up in the bed, grabbed the IV rack to support himself. "Look at me." He reached out a hand and laid it on his grandson's shoulder. Gripped him, and pulled and tugged, until Kon turned, relying on sheer stubbornness to accomplish what physical strength never could. Kon came around with his hands pressed hard into his eyes. "Kon," Jonathan said again. "You don't have anything to be ashamed of. Crying's what you do when you love someone and it hurts."

He tugged gently on Kon's wrists, trying to encourage them down. That only earned him harder head shaking and hands clenched white knuckled over Kon's eyes. Kon's breath hitched and hiccupped in his chest and his lips were pressed in a tight line. Hell, Jonathan wasn't certain the boy was breathing at all in his quest to keep every sound inside. He switched to a different tack. Tugging the IV rack closer he reached up and took his grandson by the shoulders.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't listen and I'm sorry I thought I knew best." He squeezed the shoulders, pulled Kon closer. "And I'm sorry if for one moment I ever made you think my pride was more important to me than you are." His voice broke and went husky but he said his piece, feeling his eyes go damp. "Nothing's more important. Nothing."

A flicker of green eyes, staring at him through cracked fingers and a haze of stilled tears.

"I'll sign the damn paper. The lot of you better get used to me being a damn stubborn fool because I plan to stick around a lot longer."

The eyes disappeared again, but Jonathan didn't care because Kon dropped down beside the bed, wrapped his arms around Jonathan's waist, and shook, face hidden in the hospital gown.

"I'm sorry," Kon gasped, "I'm sorry; I'm sorry."

Jonathan wasn't certain if that was an apology for the breakdown now or the abortive attempt at coercion earlier, but there wasn't anything he wanted to hear his grandson apologize for.

He pulled Kon close and held on.

He still had the strength for that. He was going to hold onto his family for a long time.

Whatever the cost.

-----------

Clark fidgeted. It was like the mind could only sustain grief and worry so long. It kept seizing at anything available to distract it. Like the chart on the wall with the little smiley-face gradient for patients to point out their pain level. Clark's brain kept insisting that this was hilarious. The last face ('worst possible pain') looked weirdly like it was sulking. Maybe it was an addict and needed more drugs. Maybe that's what was making face-on-the-left so terrifyingly happy.

Clark rubbed his hand up and down his mother's arm where she was tucked in beside him on the narrow bench, exhausted and dozing. He flickered his eyes around the hallway for something to distract him. He'd been anthropomorphizing the pain scale long enough. Trouble was, his brain really did want to latch on to any available distraction, and if he didn't find something to concentrate on he'd be peeking into that hospital room before he knew it. Clark tried hard not to abuse his superpowers, but his subconscious had a tendency of grabbing control of his vision when he wasn't paying attention, and the hearing was even harder to keep hold of. No excuse for violating Kon's privacy, though.

Clark cast around the white-walled hallway some more and settled on the man leaning against the wall just a few yards away, looking elegant and disinterestedly patient as he tapped something into a handheld electronic. Clark wondered where Mercy was. It was rare for Luthor to go anywhere without the bodyguard. Or perhaps it was better said that it was rare for Mercy let him out of her sight. The woman was fanatical about Luthor's safety. Clark leaned his head back against the wall and examined Luthor, entertaining himself with a brief fantasy about Luthor slipping out a penthouse window on a chain of finely tailored shirts.

He should probably be focusing more on the ramifications of Luthor's presence right now. It was a deviation from the norm and that gave it all the more potential for an unpleasant surprise.

But. That would mean thinking about the offer, and his dad's refusal, and Dad being sick, his mom and Kon shouting for him, and if he hadn't heard, hadn't been close enough... Clark wrenched his thoughts free of that mental black hole. He had heard, and he had been close enough, and those few minutes had made a difference. Dad had recovered. He was fine, he was going to be all right, just...

Clark couldn't find an appropriate word. His father was the opposite of weak, or delicate, or frail, or...anything. Vulnerable might be an appropriate word. Human-vulnerable like everyone around him, like everything Clark was not.

He found himself staring at Luthor again--the smooth pale curve of his skull like the ultimate declaration of human vulnerability, and a lie in its own way. Available to every eye but ultimately untouchable.

That only brought him back to the damn offer. Not even a bad offer, really, no obvious barbs or hooks beyond the disagreeableness of being beholden to this particular man. He might do it just for Kon, just because he asked, because that was the kind of gesture Lex had always been fond of. He might not even bother to extract more than good press from it.

Clark couldn't blame Kon for calling--there'd been a time years ago when he would have done the same thing--and maybe Luthor's presence could be taken as a sign that he really did want to establish some kind of relationship with his not-quite-son.

But it didn't matter because Dad wouldn't accept and Clark couldn't ask him to. Not now, not this time. Not when he knew Jonathan had sacrificed his principles once before for Clark's sake. Had asked Lionel Luthor for help adopting Clark and then been blackmailed into selling out his friends and neighbors for LuthorCorp's profit. True, Lex Luthor was a far better man than Lionel but in application that only made him more dangerous. He had that quality of great men--the ability to inspire devotion.

It didn't matter. Clark couldn't--couldn't--ask his father to bend his pride and accept help from a Luthor. Not again. He'd seen the same thought written across his mother's face.

Kon, though. Kon had had a look in his eye that had made Clark uncomfortable. He wasn't sure if anyone else in the room recognized it, except maybe Luthor. It was something that required personal experience. Kon had the look of a man contemplating the suicide leap of doing the wrong things for the right reasons.

Clark remembered just how cold and withdrawn Kon had looked--not like Kon at all--and had to restrain himself again from peering into that hospital room. Trust. It was all about trust. This was a decision each person had to make for themselves, over and over again. He had to trust Kon and his father and he had to believe that things--everything--would work out. Maybe that was trite and foolish or maybe it was wise but if Clark didn't find something to hang on to the hopelessness would flatten him.

He stifled a sigh, tore his eyes away from the door, and kept himself busy surveying scrubs colors on the doctors and nurses that occasionally swept down the hallway. Sky blue seemed to be pretty popular.

And then--the door opened and they all leaned forwards, expectant and tense. Luthor's PDA disappeared into the suit. Beside Clark, his mother was suddenly wakeful and alert.

Kon turned toward Luthor, somehow keeping his face tilted so he never quite made eye contact, and gave a short sharp nod. Then he stood in the hallway, nearly vibrating out of his skin, and looked more than a little lost. "He said he'd sign," Kon said aloud, as if needing to hear the words himself. Next to him, Clark heard his mother draw in a breath.

Kon wasn't looking at anybody, Clark noticed, but it was different than before. Instead of drawn in on himself he seemed--exposed and raw, like Clark felt on the inside. His eyes were red.

Martha squeezed Clark and spoke softly to Kon. "Oh, honey, I'm so glad."

Kon did his not quite looking at Luthor thing again. His fingers clenched and stretched restlessly and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "How soon can you start?"

"I can get someone out here for the preliminaries tomorrow morning. Everything should be in order within the next few days." Luthor's voice was business-like--just the right mix of courtesy and distance--but his eyes were sharp and thoughtful on Kon.

He touched Kon's arm and Kon jumped and turned wide, dazed eyes on him. Clark couldn't make out Luthor's expression from this angle but whatever Kon saw made his breath hitch and stutter. His face scrunched up and he turned away from all of them. "I've--I need some air," he said, and took off walking, then almost running down the hall, doing a credible impression of Clark's best speed.

Luthor watched him go and then turned his professional face on Clark and his mother. Mostly on Clark's mother. Okay, he was ignoring Clark entirely. Guess they were all having trouble coping with this situation. "Mrs. Kent, I'll send someone by to get those papers and talk with you as soon as possible."

"All right. Thank you for your help, Mr. Luthor," his mother responded with her own version of polite distance. Then she seemed to soften slightly. "And don't worry too much about Conner. He just needs some space to get his head straight. He'll bounce back."

Luthor blinked at her and nodded, almost reflexively. Then he tipped his head in a decisive leave-taking, said, "Good evening," and headed down the hallway.

Somehow, suddenly, Clark found his voice, the word plucked from his throat.

"Lex."

That confident stride hesitated, paused, but didn't turn.

"Thank you."

He did look back this time, meeting Clark's eyes with icy coldness. "I didn't do it for you."

It was a dismissal and a cut but Clark felt a real smile curve the edges of his lips. "I know."

The glare blurred into confusion and the other man broke eye contact first. Point to Clark. Without another word, Lex Luthor strode off down the hallway.

Clark hugged his mother and followed her in to see his father. Hope burned bright and warm like a fire in his chest.