Chapter Text
Something is wrong with Jonathan and Jordan. Well, maybe, not “wrong”, that’s a strong word. Strange is a better way to describe it. They’re acting very strange.
He noticed it recently, but believes whatever is causing his sons’ odd behavior started days ago. The night he and Lois returned from an investigation, past 3am. Jordan practically shot through the roof when they stepped inside, staring at his parents with wide eyes, as if they caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to do. When they asked why he was awake at this hour, he replied with an awkward I was thirsty and hurried upstairs.
He’s been on edge ever since, constantly coiled up like a snake preparing to strike. Jordan has always been cautious, but never like this. He’s expecting something to happen, something bad, and is waiting. A man navigating thin ice. Clark can see it in his son’s eyes, clouded with a mixture of apprehension and guilt.
And what adds to the confusion, Jordan’s worried glances aren’t without reason, they’re almost solely aimed at Jonathan. Who seems to be oblivious to his brother’s gaze.
Speaking of Jonathan, Clark found him in the kitchen yesterday. Coming home from a save during the night, entering from the back porch, he’s greeted by a silhouette sitting at the table. Flipping the light on, revealing Jon, asleep, leaning forward and using crossed arms as a pillow. Concerned, parental instincts kicked in and guided his actions, urging him to wake his son up and question if he was alright. Jonathan isn’t known for sleeping at the table, no one in the family is.
A light shake to his shoulder caused Jon to wince so hard Clark jerked back as well, out of habit. Tired eyes, still half closed from sleep, blink up at his father. His voice is barely above a mumble, asking what?. Telling Jon he’s sleeping at the kitchen table, he snaps his head up and observes his surroundings, confirming Clark was correct.
“I thought I went back upstairs.” is what he said, running a hand through his hair. Puzzled by his location, but not enough to be alarmed over it. Unsurprisingly. He looked exhausted, his appearance mimicking how he looks when sick. Dark circles shadowed under his eyes and complexion was paler than it should be. Ghostly, if Clark had to choose a word to describe it.
He ushered Jonathan up to his room, staying close at his side, and making sure he got to his bed.
Then he laid in his own, coming to the conclusion something must have happened while he and Lois were gone, and the boys aren’t talking about it, not even to each other. What worries Clark is they don’t seem to be handling it well, but the boys aren’t teenagers anymore, he can’t sternly but lovingly suggest they tell him what happened. Not that his boys ever told him the truth as teenagers, either.
But at nineteen, it’s an impossible task to get them to talk about what’s bothering them. Now having an “I’m an adult, I can do whatever I want” card to use, as well.
It’s his morning to do the dishes. Focusing on the task at hand is rather difficult, his hand creating circles mindlessly, stuck in a loop, on the same plate. What if scenario eats away at his brain, using his imagination against him. Someone daring to harm his boys, and believing they got away with it. Anger flares under his skin, heating up his veins, causing a red glaze over his eyes.
The fire dies, extinguished by stairs creaking and voices echoing into the kitchen. In the familiarity, the routine, Clark found some comfort. Not much, but some.
“Did you see Nat’s text?”
Jonathan sounds completely healthy. No hint, not even a sprinkle, of illness in his voice. In the past, before either boy came down with a cold or flu, there was always a forewarning. Their throats scratchy, noses stuffy, affecting their voices. Those signs were missing, non-existent.
Jordan speaks next, “Yeah.”
Clark tosses a glance over his shoulder as the boys enter. He’d send them a wave, but his hands were busy, currently submerged in water. Such an action would create an unnecessary mess, leaving a puddle of water on the floor. Another thing to clean. A warm, welcoming greeting of morning! was just as good. His sons’ lackluster reply made Clark’s eyes roll and lips wear a smile.
Matching his voice, Jonathan’s appearance was completely normal. Pale blue eyes sparkling, complexion healthy and kissed by sun freckles, soft blonde curls bouncing against his forehead as he moved. The exhausted, sick look Clark viewed last night is lost.
Jon pulls a chair out to sit in. “So, do you wanna go?”
Doing the same, Jordan breathes a sigh, “Eh, not really. Parties always ended badly for us, ya know?”
Clark raises an imaginary eyebrow at that.
Did something happen while they were at a party? Or is he looking for clues where there is none. If the boys vowed to never speak about what happened, Jordan wouldn’t have made that comment. Keeping secrets close to their chests, they’re quite good at. Not that Clark is proud. Having no choice but to learn how to hide the truth, to sell a believable lie. Such a skill keeps the family safe.
Jon huffs a laugh, then agrees. “Yeah. We can visit her, though. Is this weekend good for you?”
The familiar apprehension creeps into Jordan’s voice. “Sure, I guess.” He adds, more casually, like if a shrug was words. Noticed his slip up and corrected. “If we feel okay, that is.”
Jon tilts his head to the side, “Why wouldn’t we?”
During moments like this, Jonathan seemingly sharing Clark’s confusion, he wonders if Jon is a part of it at all. Aware of what happened. Compared to his brother, he hasn’t changed demeanor. Wiggling worms of stress and anxiety currently chewing a hole through Jordan ignoring Jonathan for some reason.
Unless..
Jordan laughs this time. A fake one, Clark notes. “You never know, our life is totally unpredictable. That’s why I don’t make concrete plans.
Jon scoffs, but finds it relatable, as he doesn’t disagree or joke.
Grabbing a small towel from the counter, drying his wet hands, Clark turns around and moves his gaze between both sons. “Are you boys hungry?”
Jon groans, squeezing his eyes shut, “I’ve been so hungry lately. It’s annoying. I thought Kryptonians didn’t need to eat?”
In a blink and you’ll miss it moment, fear flashes in Jordan’s eyes. He quickly drops his gaze to the table, watching his index finger draw random shapes on the surface.
“You’re half human. You still need to eat.” Clark reminds, which earns a raspberry from Jon in response.
Gathering the ingredients for breakfast, digging through the cabinets and cupboards. Bread, eggs, syrup, some cinnamon and vanilla. The boys don’t talk much while he cooks, stuck in their own heads, likely replaying the unspoken event. Having conversations with eye contact and subtle facial expressions rather than words. To keep Clark in the dark.
Even breakfast is quiet. Everyone poking forks at a plate of french toast before the day officially begins. Jordan finishes his food first, quickly tossing his plate and fork into the sink, then retreating upstairs. Nearly a perfect copy of his behavior a few nights ago, except this time, he disappeared without a word. Despite announcing his hunger, Jon ate slowly, barely touching his meal; face scowling in disgust when the french toast touched his tongue.
Jon loves french toast, his favorite food, that’s why Clark made it today. Adding powdered sugar on top of Jon’s toast specifically. Only he asks for it, so Clark sprinkled it on in advance.
Jon apologies for the plate of still full of food but thanks his father for cooking also, then removes himself from his seat. Jordan left, now Jonathan leaves. Not because he’s scared but because he had to get to work. He works downtown, at Brit & Dunn’s. A punishment handed to him four years ago. Offered many chances to leave, he never did, insisting he genuinely enjoyed his job and the company it brought, becoming good friends with his co-worker, Denise. And having a constant flow of money is always a good thing.
An uneasy feeling of dread settles in Clark’s stomach. X-Kryptonite. To an alarming degree, that’s what this reminds him of. Jon or Jordan, or both, got into something they shouldn’t have and the other is help cover.
In this instance, from Clark’s perspective, it was Jordan. Jon is just playing the role of unaware. A role he’s nearly mastered by now.
“Jonathan,” The dining chair scratches against the floor, Clark rising to his feet. “Is everything alright?”
This is the best he could do. Start the conversation, reach out. Offer his support, a shoulder to lean onto, to cry on. Let his son know he’s here for him. Their struggles, their worries and fears, he sees them. In the silence, he hears them. They aren’t invisible no matter how hard they try to hide, shoving them to the corners of their minds, and pretending everything is fine.
Jon pauses, half in the kitchen, half in the hallway. His shoulders tense. Turning to face his father, he smiles, “Of course.”
That does little to reassure the hurricane of worry growing bigger every passing second in Clark’s head.
Clark takes a step forward. “If something is wrong, you can always tell me, or your mother. We’re here to help you.”
A glimmer of hope, spark of light combating the thorny vines constricting tight in his chest. The smile painted on Jon’s face drops. His mouth opens, intending to speak, but stops any words trying to slip free. Snapping his jaw shut. Hesitating. Brows furrowed in thought, focus pulled away from Clark and aimed elsewhere. Clark frowns.
Come on, Jon.
“Yeah. See you after work.” is what Jon finally says, to Clark’s disappointment.
With that said, Jonathan continues onward. Clark watching him progress down the hallway and retrieve his truck keys from the basket set on the hall table, then exit through the front door. Ending their discussion when it almost had a chance to get somewhere.