Archive of Our Own

Clark Kent was many things—mild-mannered reporter, farmer, Superman, husband, father to two young children and one on the way. One thing he wasn’t was a victim. Target, yes, many times in fact, for both his journalism and his heroics. But, since he had managed to mostly keep his weakness to kryptonite under wraps, he usually avoided succumbing under those attacks.

He hadn’t heard of the gang that attacked him before he heard a woman screaming for Superman and left a riveting episode of Paw Patrol to go help out. She had been caught between two men and struggling.

He hadn’t even touched the ground when the green glow pierced his eyes. The hot, crippling agony burrowed deep inside him. He slammed into the ground, no longer able to keep himself aloft. A small crater appeared in the asphalt under him from the force of his landing.

That was when the gang had swarmed him. There were at least twenty, all in black and wearing masks. The woman joined them in pinning him to the asphalt. One of the men held a fist sized piece of kryptonite to his forehead while the other men patted him down.

They dragged his regular clothes out from the pocket in his cape and discarded them in a nearby dumpster. They did the same to his wallet without even looking at it. His phone was smashed by a baseball bat and then sent to the same fate.

Without speaking further, the men picked him up and dragged him off. The man holding the piece of kryptonite pulled a slightly smaller piece from his pocket.

That piece he shoved in between Clark’s lips.

The wave of hot pain that washed over Clark the moment that piece slipped inside his weakened mouth was almost enough to knock him out. Only sheer stubbornness kept him awake.

He was carried off to a semi darkened warehouse filled with metal barrels, bars and chunks of kryptonite scattered around, and bombs.

That was when Clark lost any hope of escaping on his own. Not with that much kryptonite. He’d be lucky if he was able to stay awake long enough to figure out who had him. He spat out the piece of kryptonite inside his mouth, but it did no good.

A lot of villains liked talking their heads off until they revealed what they wanted from him. These guys didn’t. They pinned Clark against a large pole, ten of the gang members jumping in to pin him down. Some held his head steady, while one man pinched his nose shut.

Without kryptonite, Clark could hold his breath for over an hour.

With kryptonite?

He was gasping for air within thirty seconds.

Another gang member lifted a two-gallon plastic container filled with a glowing green liquid from one of the metal barrels and slowly but surely poured the liquid down Clark’s throat.

The green liquid—the liquid kryptonite poured down his throat like liquid fire. His entire body seized as he drank it down in a desperate attempt to keep from drowning. He shook, thrashed, tried to scream against the hot, excruciating agony gripping him.

The gang members only stopped to keep him from choking. Then the green flood continued until he had drank the whole thing.

Once he had drank that, another container of the same size came out.

Unbidden tears sprang to his eyes. He would have pled for mercy had his body had any strength left to obey him.

But the firm grip pinching his nose shut grew tighter. And he had no choice but to gasp against the flood of liquid kryptonite until he had gulped that container down as well.

He had hoped beyond hope that the kryptonite had been watered down enough to not be that bad. He had been able to expel the kryptonite laced water out of his system in high school in a couple of hours.

But this was clearly a far more concentrated solution. Because the agonizing boiling green veins had already spread throughout his body. A churning, excruciating poker of heat had burned down his throat and settled in his overly full stomach.

He had been deliberately, systematically forced to drink his own poison. And now there was nothing he could do under it but suffer and hope he was able to purge the kryptonite from his body before it succeeded in killing him.

Based on how the hot agony had already overtaken his body and his vision, his entire world, he didn’t think successfully purging the kryptonite would be the case.

He could do nothing but succumb to the pain after that. He was barely aware of being loaded onto a large truck with all the bombs and the kryptonite and fell into his pain for the duration of the journey. Only the cold clamping of chains around his whole body revived him.

An elaborate system of chains and wires were wound around him, connecting to the massive pile of powerful bombs. The kryptonite was still scattered around the roof of the building he was on.

It took him an embarrassingly long time to recognize the roof of the Daily Planet.

“There’s enough firepower on this roof to destroy the entire city,” one of the masked gang members whispered. “So I suggest you try not to move unless you want to set the bombs off prematurely. When you stop breathing, so does your beloved city. Goodbye, Superman.”

Clark couldn’t manage more than a choked groan in response. He could do nothing but fight to keep breathing through the pain as the gang left him.

And he was left alone to die with all of Metropolis.

The sale of the farmhouse had fallen through right after Lois’s first (interrupted) wedding—between Clark suddenly telling the buyer he wanted to back out because he had been trying to erase too much of the past and the buyer being spooked by the planet falling from the sky and wanting to travel the world before he died instead of buying a farm, canceling the sale had been easy. But they hadn’t actually lived in the farmhouse for years, Metropolis being far more convenient both for their jobs and Clark’s Supermanning. Only after Lois had gotten pregnant had they officially made the move back into their Smallville home. Metropolis was nice and all, but if she wanted to raise kids anywhere, the house that was the only real place both she and Clark considered home seemed like the only option.

(Plus it was cheaper than finding a bigger apartment. Which always mattered.)

At some point in between that time, Mrs. Kent had remarried—to none other than the illustrious Perry White himself. She had also retired from politics and moved back to Metropolis.  

To be honest, Lois was still convinced Martha had been trying to manifest grandkids by becoming a convenient childcare option. And somehow, miraculously, it seemed to have worked. Little Jon Kent the miracle half-Kryptonian baby came soon after Lois’s only non-interrupted wedding (the fifth try for a successful wedding, sadly enough, people just couldn’t stop attacking, abducting, and killing Clark at inconvenient times). Little Jon was joined by a little Lara soon after and now, thanks to a brief abundance of overconfidence and nostalgia, they were expecting a third.

Clark, of course, had been both elated that his fears of never being able to have a child with a human were wrong and absolutely terrified that having a half alien baby would somehow kill Lois.

A fun new fact Lois learned during her first pregnancy was that a small number of fetal cells made their way permanently into the maternal body during pregnancy and just decided to live there forever. Since baby was on the inside and had no sunlight until birth, there was no chance of super anything until after Jon came out to greet the world. But getting even a tiny boost of fancy alien cells from her pregnancy had some fun side effects. 

Emil said her aging had slowed with baby number two and now had stopped altogether with baby number three. Her frequent injuries also healed much faster than normal now. She was never going to become Superwoman, but given that Clark still looked perpetually twenty-five, Lois thought her own aging being stopped by her super babies was only fair.

Super babies also meant that an ordinary episode of Paw Patrol could make her cry. Go figure.

“All right, time for bed.” Lois turned off the TV and bit her lip, hoping that the two toddlers would go for it.

Nope. Predictably, Jon whined, “Turn on Daddy!”

He was old enough to understand Superman was private and he couldn’t tell people that Daddy could fly. Unfortunately that also meant that he knew if Daddy disappeared in a rush of wind, he’d usually appear on the TV in a news story a couple minutes later. 

Lois was too sniffly over the pregnancy hormones and the Paw Patrol episode to want to argue with her toddler. She turned the TV back on and switched to a reliable news channel.

And promptly got awarded worst mother of the year for sitting in shock and not immediately turning off the TV.

In her defense, she was in shock.

Some masked wanna be villain was on the TV in a livestream Lois couldn’t tell if it was hacked and forcibly broadcast on the news or picked up voluntarily because of its newsworthiness. She was leaning towards the latter given the sudden appearance of a split screen video shot from a helicopter of the roof the Daily Planet building loaded with bombs, what looked like a ridiculous amount of kryptonite, and her husband.

“This city has wronged us for the last time, so it’s time to say goodbye to Metropolis,” the wanna be villain said. “And don’t expect Superman to come save you this time. We’ve already taken care of him. And once he breathes his last, all of Metropolis will go up in flames with him. Goodbye.”

The livestream winked out, leaving only the live shot of poor Clark, which was too far away for her to make out his condition. Jon set up an immediate wail, and Lois cemented her worst mother of the year award by sitting in shock for a few seconds and not responding until Lara joined in the wailing.

Predictably, her phone began to ring not long after.

“Perry, what is it?” Lois asked, trying and failing to juggle two crying babies and the phone at the same time.

“I’m sending Martha to you in the Planet helicopter,” Perry said. “I want you on it when it returns.”

Clever, sending Martha to look after the babies as an excuse to get her safely away from the bombs and lure his best reporter back while pretending he didn’t know that Clark was unavailable to watch them because Superman was on top of the Daily Planet building in trouble.

Bad mother or not, Lois Lane wouldn’t be Lois Lane if she hadn’t immediately said, “You can count on it, Perry.”

Bob had been a rookie the year the Blur first came to Metropolis. He had always appreciated the super speed help, though many of his colleagues had been more skeptical at first. Now, though, the Metropolis Police Department was proud to consider Superman an honorary member. Superman had even cut the cake at their last anniversary celebration of the creation of the MPD. Dave had claimed Superman only came because he had been offered free cake, but Bob liked to think Superman felt the same camaraderie towards them.

Regardless, Bob had relied on Superman for years. Often, he was there just in the nick of time to help the MPD bomb squad dispose of particularly nasty ordnance. He was always there if the worst happened and countless lives had been saved because of him. In addition to quickly becoming something of the city mascot, Superman was the best and most effective colleague Bob could have on the MPD bomb squad.

So to have the words “Don’t expect Superman to come save you this time,” echoing in his ears as he led the bomb squad up to the Daily Planet rooftop…

It sickened Bob to his core.

None of that was enough to prepare him for what he saw the moment he emerged onto the roof. The bombs and the glowing green meteor rock he had been briefed on. But chained up in the middle was Superman. And he was…

The only appropriate word Bob could find was dying.

Superman was white, but every vein in his body was a sickening green. He lay alarmingly still among his chains and the wires wrapped around him, his head bowed and only his occasional jerking or shuddering giving evidence he was still alive.

Bob had seen a lot of bad things in his career but he still almost became sick at the sight. He examined the array of bombs and picked his way through as quickly and safely as he could to Superman.

“Superman, can you hear me?” Bob asked.

The superhero stirred, taking several agonizing seconds to lift his head. When his eyes met Bob’s, Bob curled in on himself as if he had been socked in the gut.

A wide-eyed terror filled Superman’s eyes. Panic and pain coated the superhero’s face, leaving no trace of the confidence that usually was there. Instead of the colleague Bob had hoped to find, he was face to face with a terrified victim.

Luckily, he had quite a bit of experience with those.

“It’s all right, I’m with the Metropolis PD bomb squad, I’m here to help.” Bob would never presume Superman would remember him on a good day. Panicked dying victims frequently didn’t even recognize their loved ones at first, let alone random bomb squad members they interacted with semi-frequently.

“Bomb squad?” Superman repeated faintly. “They said…if I move too much the bombs go off. And if I stop breathing…the bombs go off. I’m trying…really hard but breathing is…” He cut himself off with a ragged cough that left his lips tinged with blood. Slumping against the bomb casing he was chained to, Superman didn’t finish his sentence. His wide blue eyes stayed trained on Bob.

The sky was dark save for the gathering crowd of news helicopters, and the air was bitter cold and whipping with wind, given their height on the building and the coming winter. And Superman was looking at Bob as if he was the one who was the superhero, not the other way around.

“It’ll be all right, Superman. We’re professionals. We’ll have you out of here in no time. You just focus on breathing,” Bob said in the most confident voice he could muster.

Superman nodded. “I’ll…do my best.”

Bob stepped away quietly and spoke softly to the rest of the bomb squad, even though Superman could probably still hear them. “Get an EMS team suited up and up here stat. And if anyone knows how to contact the Justice League, now would be the time to do that.”

Given Bob hadn’t even known it was possible to poison Superman and he was sitting there in front of them clearly poisoned, they needed all the experts they could get.

Theoretically, he knew Superman had family, that cousin of his and his brother or something, Supergirl and Superboy. But, looking at how bad off Superman was right now, Bob could only pray they stayed away.

Lois caught the first glimpse of a close up of Clark once she jumped into the helicopter. Mini Jimmy had a live feed of the roof from one of the news channel’s helicopters on his phone. It took all her strength not to cry right there.

He was so sick and so scared.

“Hold on, baby,” she whispered. “I’m coming.” Not that she was coming to do anything but report on the situation, but she would still be there and he would know she was there. And that would hopefully be enough for him to know that he wasn’t alone.

She couldn’t hear well enough to make any phone calls in the air while they flew to Metropolis, so instead she  texted all the Justice League members she could. Including Kara and Conner, but while her texts to the rest of the League were begging for help, she warned Kara and Conner to stay away.

Even they couldn’t do anything against that much kryptonite.

And she begged Emil to hurry to the scene. He assured her he was already on his way and had been as soon as he saw the news.

“Just hold on, baby,” Lois whispered. “I’m coming as fast as I can.”

On Mini Jimmy’s live feed, Clark shifted and whispered words that, although they weren’t caught on sound, Lois could easily make out by his lip movements and by how often he said it every day.

“I love you.”

Clark was more than aware that every breath he took carried the weight of the lives of everyone in Metropolis.

It had never been such a hard burden to bear before.

He shook with the effort each breath took. Tears wet his cheeks, whether from the force it took to breathe or the excruciating pain coursing through him with each heartbeat, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he would be screaming if he had the strength to do it.

Men in bomb suits bustled about the roof, quietly discussing technical terms he didn’t understand and fussing with wires. Clark didn’t pick out the man in an identical protective suit rushing towards him until a familiar voice called out his name.

“Kal!” Dr. Emil Hamilton knelt in front of him, carrying several bags he dumped on a clear patch of roof near Clark’s feet. “It’s all right. I’m here. How are you feeling?”

Even though Emil rarely used his Kryptonian name, Clark still appreciated being addressed more familiarly than Superman. He tried to explain the pain, the kryptonite he had been forced to drink, at least greet his friend, but all he could get out when he opened his mouth was a sob.

“That bad, huh? Let me get some readings while the others get here,” Emil said. “I have a feeling you’re going to need breathing support sooner rather than later.”

“Please, it’s…inside,” Clark panted.

“The kryptonite is inside of you?” Emil clarified.

“Yeah,” Clark gasped, unsure if nodding would be too much movement. “Liquified. Forced me to…drink it.”

Emil’s face tightened. “That’s all right, Kal. We’ll figure this out.”

“All right, we can start removing the meteor rock,” Bob said quietly. “Go slow and be careful.”

Clark’s struggles to fight through the pain were weaker now that someone he trusted was kneeling in front of him. He was barely aware of Emil working around the chains and wires keeping him attached to the largest of the ordnance to take his vitals.

“Okay, Kal, since you said they made you drink the kryptonite, I’m going to give you something to help you hopefully vomit some of it up,” Emil said. “Now, a lot of it probably got absorbed into your body already but whatever we can get out at this point is worth it. How does that sound?”

“Okay,” Clark panted. “You… Lois?”

He didn’t have the strength anymore to try and listen for her.

“She wants you to hold on,” Emil said.

“Tell her I’ll…do my best,” Clark panted.

“Now, drink this, as much as you can,” Emil said.

Being the only doctor the most powerful alien on earth trusted with his healthcare was a concerning honor on its own. Said alien being one of Emil’s only friends, not to mention Superman?

Yeah. It was a lot.

Clark had vomited as much as he was able, and Emil had wanted to try and replace that with regular water but his breathing had become too labored. With the help of the bomb squad guiding them around wires, they had managed to get a breathing tube in Clark.

He had been unconscious and unable to be roused ever since.

“What’s the progress?” Emil asked into his phone.

“Uh…I managed to make Jor-El the AI portable,” Conner said. “Got some blueprints and some crystals, Kara’s gathering the other stuff Jor-El said we’ll need. You sure we won’t be able to just fly him to the sun?”

“Given his previous experiences with kryptonite, I don’t think that would be enough even if he could be moved,” Emil said. “But he’s already declining so fast, he’s almost definitely going on life support as soon as we can get him off the roof.”

“Right. I’ll meet you at MetGen Central, then,” Conner said.

“Hurry.” Emil’s eyes were drawn irrevocably back to poor Clark.

All he did to protect the world and this was the thanks he got.

Neither Emil nor the computer simulation of Clark’s dead father were sure the Kryptonian regeneration chamber would do much good for Clark, but at this point, it was the only option they had.

“We’re ready to start taking the wires off Superman,” Bob the ordnance tech said. “How’s he doing?”

“He needs more support than we can give him now,” Emil said.

“Is it the green stuff?” Bob asked.

“The kryptonite, yes,” Emil said. “I’m familiar with it. The radiation is harmful, especially to Kryptonians.”

“Damn. I hope he pulls through okay,” Bob said. “Well, you be ready to pull him out when we give the go ahead.”

“We’ll be ready,” Emil said. “Just give the word.”

Lois couldn’t remember afterward what excuse she gave Mini Jimmy to convince him she had to be dropped off at the hospital where they were taking Superman. Something about the newsworthiness of it all, even though she had no intention of reporting at the hospital.

Regardless, she had landed and made her way into the ER right before they rushed Clark in, surrounded by a dozen shouting people running by his stretcher.

Emil was kneeling on the moving stretcher giving Clark CPR.

An agonizing cry ripped itself out of Lois. She was running after the stretcher before she had even really processed what she was seeing. She made it all the way to the doors of the OR before arms of steel caught her and dragged her back.

“Let me go! Let me go!” Lois fought like Darkseid was trying to kidnap her against the immovable statue who was carrying her kicking and screaming to the waiting room.

“Lois, you can’t go in there with them,” Conner said. “They’re going to do everything they can.”

“They can’t…take him away from me,” Lois sobbed. “I need him! Conner, I need him, please!”

“He’ll fight to get back to you,” Conner said. “You know he will.”

 “He wasn’t breathing. Connor, he wasn’t breathing.” Lois turned to him and sobbed.

“I know.” Conner pulled her close. “He’s breathing right now, Lois. He’s breathing right now.”

“I can’t lose him,” Lois sobbed into his T-shirt, barely noticing he was still in his Superboy gear.

“I know,” Conner said. “They’re doing everything they can.”

He dragged her to a chair that she collapsed in, sobbing. He was remarkably quiet, for Conner.

Before long, she was joined by Kara.

“He’ll be all right,” Kara said, more as if she was convincing herself than anyone else. “He has to be.”

Clark had died or almost died enough times by now for Lois to know exactly what staring down a world without her precious alien husband looked like. And she absolutely hated it. A world without Clark Kent was bleak, bitter, and cold.

“He’s always all right,” Lois said, though she had less confidence in that than she would putting a bet on Clark not tripping over anything in a twenty-four-hour period.

Still, the next few hours were some of the longest of Lois’s life.

Finally, Emil emerged and nodded at them.

“He’s in critical condition but stable, for now. Would you like to see him?” Emil asked.

Lois almost punched him for asking such a stupid question.

Would she like to see Clark?

“He’s this way,” Emil said before giving her a chance to ream him out to the sun and back.

Lois followed him, Conner and Kara staying close by her side. Inside a closed-off room with hospital security milling around was a crystal formation that looked as if the Fortress of Solitude was having a baby inside the hospital room. The Kryptonian crystal bed was positioned under a window that would stream sunlight onto Clark come sunrise.

Heart in her throat, barely breathing, Lois rushed forward.

Only Connor hovering behind her kept her from crumpling.

If she didn’t know any better, she would have sworn Clark was already dead. He was so pale and still, so grey, but still threaded through with the awful green veins. A tube had been shoved down his throat to help him breathe. She barely comprehended Emil’s explanation of the other tubes littering her husband’s body. Something to do with multiple organs shutting down and having to give him bypass and support for those functions.

Lois broke down into heaving sobs. Someone helped her into a chair by Clark’s side. And there she sat, trying and failing to contain herself.

He looked worse than when she had pulled that dagger out of his chest. So much worse.

“Please don’t take him from me,” she whispered, not sure who she was pleading to be merciful and not caring as long as they listened. “Please don’t take him from me.”

Once Perry had become both editor-in-chief of the Daily Planet and the stepfather of Clark Kent, he had stretched his plausible deniability of the man’s identity to its greatest extent. Even after another incredibly active solar storm gave Superman the exact same issues Clark had had when Perry had been scared away from his alcoholism, he had pretended not to notice.

He could no longer pretend. 

Granted, it wasn’t as if he was going to print “My Stepson and One of My Best Reporters Is Superman” on the front page of the Daily Planet. But as he finished processing the paperwork for Clark’s extended medical leave and Lois’s to be by his side (he was no fool, he knew expecting anything out of Lois at the moment would just be cruel), he could not keep the heaviness and the moisture from his eyes.

Clark Kent was a sweet kid, very friendly, probably the most popular reporter in the office, and he was good. Most importantly, he was Martha’s beloved son. So while the Planet staff expected Perry to be an objective editor excited to run with the story about Superman in critical condition, all he could see was Martha’s face when he had told her what had happened to her son.

It wasn’t as if working in their own building was easy at the moment given all the police still cleaning up from last night’s incident on the roof. So after he went in, got the paperwork straightened out for Clark and Lois, and made sure the front page was in the best shape it could be, he passed the rest of the job off to his second in command and left to go take Martha to the hospital.

He also pretended he didn’t realize the person who came to babysit the kids in place of Martha was Wonder Woman. Perry was getting very good at pretending these days.

Even this was no small feat. The fact that Superman was inside that hospital had been impossible to contain and a massive crowd had gathered outside. Security and police had camped out around the entrance, but that hadn’t stopped the crowd, which was rapidly separating into sections. The most obvious was the media, which somehow angered Perry even though he was the media. Yes, Superman possibly dying was obviously the most newsworthy thing going on that day, but…damn it, the poor boy was fighting for his life in there and all these people brought was TV cameras.

He hated even more that half of him wanted to just give into his instincts and join them.

Another significant, larger section was rapidly becoming a vigil of sorts. Martha was clearly touched by the amount of people openly praying for her boy to be okay, and Perry wasn’t far behind her.

The rest of the crowd was still just a mass of confusion that made it difficult for Perry and Martha to make it into the hospital. Once they finally squeezed through the crowd and the police barricade, their progress was much faster. One of the hospital security officers personally escorted them to Superman to Clark’s room.

Lois was passed out in a chair in the room next to some sort of alien crystal formation. Perry wasn’t supposed to know his stepson Conner was Superboy, but the kid was the most obvious kid on the planet. He barely even had a civilian disguise. Conner was quietly talking with Dr. Emil Hamilton (and that had been a trip for Perry, who was privately collecting some of Clark’s most ludicrous lies, when he had tried to pass it off as no big deal that a doctor from S.T.A.R. Labs was his personal physician). Supergirl was sound asleep on a couch against the wall.

Even knowing the poor kid was on death’s door, it was still a sock in the gut to peek over the edge of the crystal formation and see Clark inside. He was white, almost as white as the crystals surrounding him. Every vein stood out with a sickening green vividity. The kid was on a ventilator supporting his breathing and a myriad of other tubes that Perry only saw on people who needed full life support.

“My God,” Perry breathed.

Martha burst into heaving sobs. Perry gathered her close, for once completely bereft of any words that could possibly help.

“My baby,” Martha sobbed. “My poor baby.”

“He’s alive, Mom,” Conner said, turning away from Emil. “I know it looks bad, but he’s alive, and the regeneration matrix seems to be helping. It’s really slow right now, but he is improving, I promise.”

Even just seeing Conner completely serious for once drove in how critical Clark’s condition was. The kid was almost never this serious. He breathed jokes and quips like they were his oxygen. That there was no trace of them now spoke volumes.

“He’s a tough kid, Martha,” Perry said. “Before you know it, he’ll be awake and giving you that silly grin of his that makes you wonder why you were ever worried in the first place.”

“He had better,” Martha whispered. “Because if he doesn’t, he’s grounded.” She leaned over Clark’s crystal thing. “You hear me, Clark? You’re grounded.”

Perry knew it was his imagination, but he could have sworn he saw just the faintest twitch of a smile.

Clark let his feet swing over the edge of the Smallville windmill platform. Metropolis rose up high in the distance. He knew it wasn’t real, none of this was actually real, but it was better than the darkness and the pain, so he soaked it in as much as he could.

“I’m surprised you’re not lecturing me again,” he said to the figure sitting by his side. “Usually when I get to this point, I’m being told how disappointed you are in me.”

“Usually, you are talking with my computer counterpart, not myself,” Jor-El said. “He was created for the sole purpose of training you in your abilities, protecting the planet if you could not, and, first and foremost, keeping you alive. You can understand why a computer whose primary purpose is making sure you are alive would be upset if you took actions to make sure you were not.”

“I guess I never thought of it like that,” Clark said. He turned to face his father, his real father, for the first time since he had been told goodbye and placed in that spaceship. Even though he had come to this point by being on the brink of death, he wasn’t upset he had this chance. “What do you, the real you, have to say, then?”

Jor-El laid a warm hand on his shoulder and smiled. “I am so proud of you, my son. Though I do admit I had hoped not to see you here for a good long time yet. You have become far more than I could have ever dreamed. I only wish your mother and I could have been by your side to see it happen.”

“You did everything you could,” Clark said. “I’ve had a really good life. And I’ve always carried you with me. As much as I’ve felt alone, I never truly was, not really.”

“Come here.” Jor-El drew him into a firm hug. “Oh, my precious boy. I love you so much.”

For some reason, Clark found himself sobbing. Despite how loving and kind his adoptive parents had been, no matter how much they had loved him, even though they had always been fully and completely his real parents and always would be… There had always been a part of him deep inside that was broken and hurting because he had lost Jor-El and Lara, even if he didn’t fully remember losing them. He had always needed them and wanted them and loved them even if they weren’t there and he didn’t know why. This moment, here and now, healed some part of the lost little orphan boy who had wandered through the fields during the meteor shower naked and alone.

How lucky he was, to be so loved by so many people.

“I love you too,” Clark said.

In this place, where time was meaningless, he didn’t know how long he sat wrapped in his father’s arms. All he knew was that he eventually pulled back.

“Let’s see if this works here,” Clark said, shoving down his fear of heights that tried its best to reassert itself. He jumped off the edge of the windmill and easily floated down.

Jor-El joined him down in the grass, and before he could blink, Lara stood before him too, and Dad.

Dad had been here to greet him as he always was.

Clark blinked away the tears that bloomed in his eyes, but more just replaced them. “I’m so glad I got to see all of you, even if it was because…”

Dad laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m just glad to see you happy, Clark. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

“Oh, you got so big and handsome,” Lara said. “Look at you.”

“You have grandchildren,” Clark said. “Two, and one on the way. Jonathan and Lara. It’s…what we named them.”

A lump filled his throat. Being a parent had filled him with such an appreciation and love for both sets of parents he hadn’t had before, but now…

He was well on his way to leaving Jon and Lara just like he was. Fatherless.

“I hope I can get back to them,” Clark rasped.

“You will.” Jor-El wrapped a tight arm around his shoulders. “I have confidence in you, Kal. You will fight your way back. For now, rest here. You need it.”

“While we are resting, I wonder if there is some way to show you…” Lara started.

As she spoke, the landscape shifted around her to one Clark had only truly seen once, in a brief panic, wreathed in flames and wracked with earthquakes. Only now, it was serene, peaceful. Beautiful.

Krypton.

“Ah, yes, there we go,” Lara said. “Why don’t we show you around?”

Dear Superman,

I’m sorry you’re feeling so sick. My mommy said you’re not doing well and so I thought I’d write you a letter to cheer you up! You saved me and my daddy and baby sister when our car crashed and you told me it would be all right and that made me feel all better and not scared anymore. I’m not a doctor, so I can’t make you better, but it’ll all be all right, Superman!

Here’s a drawing of my teddy bear. My mommy says it’s too expensive to mail you the real thing, but the real thing makes me feel better when I’m sick so here’s a drawing. Maybe it’ll do the same for you. I read in the paper your name is Kal-El so I named my bear Kal after you. Feel better soon, Superman (Kal-El) (is it all right if I call you Kal?)!

Lydia, age 8

Lois’s voice broke as she read the last line out loud to her unconscious husband.

“Everyone is rooting for you to get better, so you have to beat this.” Her voice broke again and all she could do was whisper. “That’s an order. And you know how much you like doing what I tell you to do.”

She curled over and sobbed again. Too many times, she had sat here crying. Clark had been unconscious, barely alive for days now and still, he was just clinging onto life. Everything had become a blur of the hospital, being escorted home to crash and cuddle her babies, and then trudging right back to sit by his side again after passing out in whatever bed or chair she was steered to.

How dare Clark go somewhere she couldn’t follow? How dare he?

“This next letter is from Andrew, age ten,” Lois said. “Dear Superman, it’s totally unfair that you’re poisoned. If I could get at the people that did this to you, I’d punch them two hundred million times just for you. But I’d make sure they were all right afterwards ‘cause I know you don’t like it when people die.”

Lois tried not to count how long it had been. More superheroes than even she knew were around came to visit Clark. Even Batman, who usually dealt with emotional situations by hiding himself in his cave until the scary emotions couldn’t hurt him anymore, had stopped by to see Clark. Emil had stayed steady with hope and Connor insisted everything was working the way it was supposed to. The portable Jor-El AI Conner made had also been what Chloe called “jailbroken,” with Conner allowing the AI to more fully access and holographically project the memories the real Jor-El had fed it to build the AI personality. Ever since, the portable Jor-El AI/regeneration matrix had been crooning memories of Lara singing over baby Kal’s bedside to the unconscious Clark.

It was very sweet, at least.

There was some good news. Clark was breathing on his own now, and the organs that had kept trying to shut down were on and trucking the way they should be. The green veins didn’t look nearly as bad as they had when she first saw him. But there had been so much kryptonite in his system and the damage had been so extensive that even over two weeks of sunlight and the regeneration matrix and the ICU staff and Emil hadn’t been enough to fully heal Clark.

“Come back to me, baby,” Lois whispered, taking his warm hand in hers. “You promised you’d always come back to me.”

It may have just been her imagination, but Clark’s fingers seemed to just barely tighten around hers.

“Clark? Baby, are you waking up? Please, come back to me. I need you.”

Fiery agony laced through every inch of Clark’s body.

He shoved it away with all of his might and stared harder at Dad.

“Clark, you have to face the world out there eventually,” Dad said. “You can’t stay here any longer.”

“No,” Clark insisted. And it wasn’t just that he didn’t want to say goodbye. Waking up would hurt. A lot. He wasn’t ready for that.

“Kal.” Jor-El wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “You must go. Your Lois needs you. We will always be here for you, waiting.”

“It’ll hurt,” Clark whispered. “It’ll be torture.”

“I know, and for that I am sorry,” Jor-El said. “I wish there was something I could do to take that pain away. But we will always be with you, Kal. Always.”

“We love you, my darling boy.” Lara kissed him on the forehead. “But the living world calls to you. You have to answer it.”

With one last glorious glance back at his parents, Clark let himself surrender to the pain and wake into its agony.

Lois didn’t think she was awake at first. But one pinch to her leg later and there she was, still sitting in the most uncomfortable chair in the hospital, still being studied by the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen.

“Hi,” she breathed, even though sound would probably just shatter the illusion and send her crashing back down into her horrible reality with no super husband to catch her.

“Hi,” Clark rasped. He had a special way of saying hi just to her that made her aware that he truly was an alien because that hi was always full of the wonder of seeing an entire world for the very first time. Except she was the new wonderful world he was marveling at.

Much like she had been spending every day lately, Lois started crying. Except this time, her tears were of joy.

“You’re alive,” she said, not sure if it was supposed to be a statement or a declaration of triumph.

“Yeah, I am.” Clark’s hand tightened around hers. “I promised I’d always come back, didn’t I?”

Lois crumpled around his hand, not sure if she was laughing or crying. She surged forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, avoiding the supplemental oxygen tube still in his nose for support.

A shaky hand pressed against her back. “I would never leave you behind, Lois.”

“You’d better not,” Lois said. “Because if you did, I’d kill you. You can be sure of that, Smallville.” She drew back just enough to stare into his beautiful blue eyes, the ones she had been so afraid she’d never see again.

“So noted.” A smile sparkled in Clark’s eyes. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too.” Lois kissed him again, then forced herself to stand up. “I’d better go get Emil. You stay awake, buster.”

A weary “Aye, aye, Captain,” followed her out the door.  

Clark had hoped waking up meant he would rapidly go back to normal like he always did. Everything would heal up and he could fly home by sunset.

He could barely sit up. With help.

Emil said he was “doing just fine” and “lucky to be alive” and “hadn’t been able to develop a robust pain tolerance, had he?”

Which, no, he hadn’t, because his pain usually disappeared very soon after it appeared, so the longer he went still in pain, the crankier he was, but what of it? Clark was allowed to be cranky. His blood felt like it was boiling from the inside out and he could barely move!

Lois swiped a tissue under his nose. Vivid green stained the white paper.

“Thanks,” Clark rasped.

“Just rest, grumpy gills,” Lois said. “You’re lucky to be alive. Healing takes time.”

“Not for me, it usually doesn’t,” Clark groused. “And since when have you started saying grumpy gills?”

“Since Jon made me watch Finding Nemo on repeat when he had the flu,” Lois said. “Grumpy gills.”

Clark didn’t have the energy to think up any of his usual comebacks, so he just stuck his tongue out at her.

“Well, I guess you really are feeling better,” Mom said.

Clark gave his best smile to Mom, standing in the doorway of his room. “That’s not really a high bar, Mom.”

She ran for him and hugged him tight. “Oh, baby, I was so scared! I’m so glad you’re awake.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“I saw my parents,” Clark said. “And Dad. It was really nice, but that’s how I knew I probably wouldn’t come back. Except Jor-El said I would make it back because he believed in me. I didn’t want to leave you guys behind.” Hot tears slipped down his cheeks.

“Oh, honey.” Mom hugged him tighter.

Lois patted him on the back. “You made it back, Clark. That’s what matters.”

Before long, his exhaustion forced him to collapse against the bed they had made for him in the Kryptonian regeneration matrix.

“How’re…the kids?” Clark asked, fighting the heaviness that threatened to tip him into sleep.

“They miss you,” Martha said. “They made get well cards. A lot of people did.”

Right. Because it was Superman who was in the hospital, not Clark Kent. “That’s…nice of them.” His eyelids slipped closed without his say so. He forced himself to stay awake.

“Hungry?” Lois swiped under his nose again, pulling away more green, and waggled a bowl of broth under his nose.

Clark shook his head. “I can’t…lift the…” It was pathetic. Normally, he could lift cars above his head, and now he couldn’t even lift a spoon. “Not hungry.”

“Too bad.” Lois shoved a spoonful of broth in his mouth anyway. “Eat up!”

Clark had seen her wrestling with feeding toddlers. He knew very well there was no fighting Lois Lane.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t give her a dirty look.

As some form of ultimate betrayal, Mom laughed. “Clark, healing takes time. You have to let other people take care of you.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that? Why does healing have to take time?” Clark grumped.

“Kal, you are lucky to be alive,” a familiar deep voice said.

Clark jumped out of his skin, almost upsetting Lois’s next spoonful. “Why does m’bed sound like Father?”

“Conner made Jor-El portable to help build the regeneration matrix,” Lois said, poking the spoon in his mouth. “And jailbroke him, apparently. You know, because the original had to feed the computer his memories to help build the AI, so Conner found a way to access those.”

“It is a miracle you are alive at all, my son,” Jor-El said. “Your body will need time to heal and cleanse the rest of the kryptonite from your body.”

“Fine.” Clark slumped in his bed, no longer fighting his exhaustion. He was vaguely aware of Lois somehow forcing the bowl of broth into him, Mom stroking his hair and crooning over him, and a deep buried voice his heart remembered more than his mind did singing him to sleep.

And lots of green tissues.

Despite Clark’s clear grumpiness about not instantaneously being whole once he woke up, he had markedly turned a corner as he rapidly improved while he slept. Liquid kryptonite kept leaking out of his nose as he slept, and Lois kept herself busy wiping it away and admiring her handsome sleeping husband. While also calling everyone she could to let them know Superman was going to be okay.

Bruce pretended he had confidence this was going to happen all along. Jimmy tripped over himself talking in excitement. Perry actually cheered. Chloe burst into tears.

“Tell that jerk to stop dying already,” Chloe said.

Lois didn’t tell her, but she privately agreed.

Clark’s grey-white color rapidly went from death to illness to slightly green to completely normal as he slept the day away, the sunlight shining on his peaceful face. He was sleeping, not comatose, not dying, just sick and snoozing.

It was wonderful.

Sometime mid afternoon, he shifted and slowly woke up. He had that sparkly eyed look on his face again staring at her that said he saw something wonderful every time he laid eyes on her.

“Good morning,” he said.

“It’s afternoon, actually.” Lois leaned in and hovered over his face about two inches away. “Feeling better?”

Clark pulled her down with one hand and pressed a passionate kiss to her lips. “Does that answer your question?” he murmured.

“I guess so.” Lois pressed another kiss to his lips, her elbow planted on his chest to keep her upright. Her elbow rose towards her face.

Clark was floating.

She drew back, taking great delight in his immediate pout. “You really are feeling better.”

Clark smiled wide at her. “I’m feeling super.”

He really wasn’t as funny as he thought he was. “I’m going to get Emil.”

“You’re no fun!” Clark called after her as she walked out.

“Well, I’m happy to say, by all appearances, you have a clean bill of health and are free to go,” Emil said. “But before you superspeed out of here in your hospital gown, you might want to address the media circus outside and let them know you’re all right.”

As if Clark was going to fly home in a hospital gown, bare butt exposed to the wind (okay, it had crossed his mind, sue him, he wanted to hug Jon and Lara so badly).

“I need different clothes for that,” Clark said.

“Lucky for you, I came prepared,” Lois said from her perch in the chair by his bedside. She tossed a backpack at him. “Go change, Superman.”

In a flash, Clark was in the red and blue suit. He took a deep breath for the first time in what felt like ages. Finally, with his second skin on, he felt like himself.

“How…many people are outside exactly?” he asked.

A lot. It was a lot.

Apparently Perry had put out the word that Superman was doing well, so everyone had gathered outside the hospital to see if that was true. A massive cheer erupted as soon as he stepped out of the hospital doors.

Face on fire, Clark rose a few inches in the air and floated to the massive knot of reporters with microphones and clusters of TV cameras.

An overlapping call of Superman just heated his face up further. He pointed at random to a reporter in the crowd, restraining his urge to bolt back into the hospital and latch onto Lois.

Usually when he talked to press as Superman, he was not the main topic.

“Superman, is it true you were on the brink of death in the hospital for several weeks?” a woman asked.

On the brink of death seemed a little overblown… Then again, he had seen his dead parents again and had multiple conversations with them, so maybe it wasn’t.

“I suppose so, yeah,” Clark said.

“The police and the media have been uncharacteristically reticent about the means of hurting you,” a male reporter said. “And any efforts to discover what this was has been heavily censored by the government. Do you care to share what that substance was?”

That was news to Clark, but he suspected he had Diana, Steve, and the DEO to thank for that. “I do not, no.”

“Don’t you think the public has a right to know the truth?” the reporter demanded.

“Do I think the public has a right to know exactly how to hurt me?” Clark repeated. “No, I do not. The people who absolutely need to know already do. Beyond the rest, I have as much a right to privacy over my medical concerns as anyone else does. It should come as no surprise to anyone that I am not invincible. I’m still just a person like the rest of you. I’m just a little harder to kill, that’s all.”

Multiple questions were shouted over each other after that. Clark scanned the crowd until he found a smaller reporter smiling kindly at him over her glasses.

He pointed at her. “Ma’am?”

“Can you confirm that you have fully recovered from the attack?” the woman asked.

“I can, thank you,” Clark said. “I’m one hundred percent better and eager to get back to normal. I want to thank everyone for their concern and their well wishes. The kindness and love people have poured out is truly amazing and I don’t feel as if I’ll ever deserve the care I’ve been shown.”

An explosion followed by a myriad of screams plucked at his ears.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to go.” Clark leapt up before anyone could ask anything else and soared through the air.

The crowd below him erupted in another massive cheer.

His face heating again, he rushed towards the explosion. It was clear across town, but he had arrived before he could truly process the reporters’ questions.

“Don’t you think the public has a right to know the truth?”

No, just like Clark didn’t think the public had a right to know the specific vulnerabilities of the president’s Secret Service or how easy it was to break into most cars. Some things didn’t need to be announced to the world—and that was something, coming from a reporter.

The explosion had come from a bank vault and the screams from the bank patrons taken captive by a group of masked robbers. Clark burst in and crossed his arms, giving his best stern look to the masked gang. Sometimes just showing up was enough to convince people to give up.

“Hey, I thought you were still in the hospital!” one of the robbers said.

“Nope,” Clark said. “Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?”

As one, the gang pointed their guns at him.

Guess that made it the hard way.

Clark disarmed them and dumped them at the nearest police station in handcuffs before any of them could think to squeeze off a bullet or two. He had just made it back to the bank to check on the former hostages when he was tackled by a bear.

Not a bear. Conner.

“Superboy, you can put me down,” Clark said through the strangling hug.

“But I thought I’d never see you on your feet again,” Conner said, his words muffled because he had his face buried in Clark’s cape.

“You can still put me down now,” Clark said. “Please?”

Conner dropped him unceremoniously. “Fine. If you say so.”

“Is everyone all right?” Clark asked, scanning the bank with his X-ray vision. No one appeared to be seriously hurt.

The crowd nodded at him.

“You know, I could have taken care of this,” Conner said.

Clark sighed. He swore, if Conner mentioned the words “tactile telekinesis” one more time…

“With my tactile telekinesis,” Conner said. “Give you more time to recover.”

“Try saying ‘tactile telekinesis’ five times fast,” Clark challenged.

Conner rolled his eyes. “Seriously, though. Go home, Kal. I’ve got the city today.”

A soft smile curved across Clark’s face. He was so proud of his baby brother. “See you there.”

With that, he let himself trust in his brother’s skills (and yes, his stupid tactile telekinesis—try saying that five times fast) and flew home.

Jon was out the door before Clark had even touched down.

With shrieks of “Daddy!”, little Jon flung himself into Clark’s arms and pulled planted a big kiss on his cheek.

“Daddy, are you all better now?” Jon asked.

“Of course I am,” Clark said. “I’m fit as a fiddle.”

“I missed you,” Jon said, squirming shyly.

“Oh, buddy, I missed you too.” Clark hugged his baby tight. “I’m so glad to be back.”

With Jon on his hip, he flung open his front door.

A crowd of family and friends shouted, “Welcome home!”

Lois, Lara, Mom, Kara, Chloe, Ollie, and the Justice League were all gathered beneath a crooked banner clearly the work of Jonny Queen and his own Jon that read “Congratulations ur not ded.”

Clark laughed. “Wow, thanks, guys. It really means a lot.”

Lois handed him Lara. “I made cake!”

Probably her “world famous” rum cake. Hopefully not lopsided this time. But Clark didn’t even care. Almost all of his family and friends were here, just to celebrate him not being dead.

There was Bruce, lurking in the corner, pretending he hadn’t been bothered by any of it.

Lois was right, he couldn’t fool a single person.

Clark really was so loved.

“Thanks, guys,” he said. “I’m glad to be home.”