#wip: jon and martha professional soulparents

[suzukiblu]

For the unpublished fic things, Martha Kent?

"Oh," the old guy Superman-not-Superboy just saved from getting flattened by a really irresponsible Metropolis truck driver says, staring at him in surprise. Superman stares back with absolutely no clue what to say. 

"Jonathan!" the old guy's probably-wife cries, running over to them from the other side of the crosswalk. The old guy doesn't look at her, just keeps staring at Superman. 

"I'm alright, honey," he says. Then he grabs her hand and puts it on Superman's arm, and . . . 

And Superman feels a soulmark trigger in his own hand, tucked into the center of his palm under his glove. 

And perfectly mirrored to the one the old guy triggered in the opposite hand about fifteen seconds ago. 

"Oh," the wife says, and now she's staring at him too. "I–oh." 

She blinks very quickly. So does the old guy. They both look like they're about to cry and Superman feels like he's about to panic and really, really wants to just bolt right now and never see either of them ever again. 

Except they're his soulmates, apparently. 

Except they're his parents. 

Apparently. 

Superman did not expect to have any soulmates. Actually, if he'd ever thought to think about it, he probably would've assumed he didn't even have a soul, much less any soulmates to go along with it. And if he'd been expecting anything, he'd have been expecting a hot chick and a romantic mark, not . . . 

In his defense, he's like two weeks old, and he spent the first week unconscious while being artificially aged and force-fed extremely boring information uploads. There's a lot of stuff he hasn't really had a chance to think about yet. 

"Uh. Hi?" he tries awkwardly, resisting the urge to hide his hands behind his back. Which is dumb, really. They can't even see his marks anyway; he's still wearing his gloves. The old guy and his wife stare at him for another moment. 

Then they both start to cry. 

Oh god, Superman thinks, and panics after all. 

"I'm sorry!" he blurts, and then the old guy and his wife both throw their arms around him. Superman has very literally never been hugged in his life and doesn't know how to handle the experience. Like, at all. Especially not coming from two directions at once. 

"Oh, no, sweetheart, it's not your fault," the wife says, her voice thick. "We're sorry. Just–we just lost your brother. We weren't expecting . . ." 

"It's so damn good to meet you," the old man says roughly, hugging him all the harder. Superman can't even figure out if he wants to hug them back, but has a very hard time keeping his TTK up all the same. "Where'd you come from, son?" 

"Uh," Superman says, and doesn't let himself examine the way that hearing the word "son" like that makes him feel, even knowing it's probably just a reflex, coming from a guy who sounds that Midwestern. "I'm–a clone. Of the first Superman. Project Cadmus made me." 

"A clone?" the wife asks, pulling back just enough to give him a worried look. "That's–not like that poor man Bizarro?" 

"A binary clone," Superman clarifies uncomfortably. "They, uh, stabilized me with human DNA. So I shouldn't, uh . . . degrade. Like that." 

He really hopes that's true, at least. 

"Well, we'll handle it if it happens," the old guy says, pulling back too and squeezing his arm. Superman feels oddly reassured, even though there's absolutely no reason to be. Unless the guy's a geneticist, maybe. 

He wants to ask if he can see their marks, but isn't sure if that'd be . . . weird, or something. Would that be weird? 

Cadmus didn't really tell him much about soulmates, which is another reason he wasn't expecting any. 

Cadmus probably didn't want him to have any, come to think. 

Superman swallows nervously and the wife cups his face in her hands. He feels her soulmark against his skin, whatever it is. 

It feels . . . warm. 

He wonders what it'd feel like against his own mark. 

"It really is so good to meet you, baby," she says, smiling tremulously at him. He can process hearing "baby" even less than he could "son". "I'm Martha Kent. This is my husband Jonathan. You can call us Ma and Pa, once you're comfortable with it." 

"What's your name, son?" the old guy–Jonathan, Superman tries to think, because thinking "Pa" sounds way too intimidating right now–Jonathan asks. Superman knows what he wants to say, but . . . 

But for the first time, saying "Superman" doesn't feel . . . honest. 

"Experiment Thirteen," he admits in a mutter, hiding his hands behind his back after all, and both Jonathan and Martha's faces tighten. 

[suzukiblu]

Some assorted Smallville headcanons from some of my assorted WIPs for Plot Bunny. They did not specify which WIP they preferred, so I just picked a bunch of different ones and went from there! 

Smallville does not approve of Clark Kent’s parenting style: Smallville is a tight-knit, proud little community where everyone looks out for each other that is full of people who want to continue living in a tight-knit, proud little community where everyone looks out for each other. The population at large still considers Clark one of their temporarily-displaced own and were therefore very willing to pretend to believe the “cousin” story when “Conner” showed up–right up until they found out it was NOT a story meant to help Clark’s displaced kid he’d just found out about settle into the Kent family in a low-pressure environment while he got over whatever obvious trauma had happened to him. Now? Now there are pitchforks being sharpened and torches being lit. CLARK JOSEPH KENT, YOUR HOMETOWN IS NOT MAD, JUST DISAPPOINTED. 

Kara gets to Earth on time and the Kents get a two-for-one special on free kids: Smallville is pretty sure Jonathan and Martha did NOT get this emotionally-fraught teen mom and her weird but adorable little baby from any actual adoption agency, Norwegian or not, but what’s a little illegal immigration and identity fraud between neighbors? None of THEIR business, no sir. Especially not if any strangers ever show up in town asking QUESTIONS. 

Jon and Martha, professional soulparents: Oh Jon and Martha absolutely will be clearing out the attic to make Conner a bedroom the absolute SECOND they get back to Smallville. And also being heartbroken about Clark, obviously. Everyone in Smallville is going to cry on them when they hear about Conner and be both very sad and very happy for them. And then they’re all gonna be Weird About Conner, who isn’t gonna know how to talk to ANY of them. He’s gonna get his cheek pinched by so, so many old ladies and SO many manly back-claps and it’s gonna be a pain controlling his TTK enough to actually let people do it. Meanwhile, everyone in Smallville, internally: oh he’s exactly as weird as Clark was when he first showed up, noted. Jfc, Jon and Martha, AGAIN?? WHERE DO YOU EVEN FIND THESE KIDS. 

Kon is too trans for this pregnancy shit: No one in Smallville knew a thing about Kon’s physical sex, so they’re all gonna be VERY surprised very soon, but also Smallville in general is gonna take that whole reveal like CHAMPS and just roll with it, even if it might require some people having some Talks With Their Kids And/Or Slightly Bigoted Relatives. Like, there will be a few assholes and a few over-inquisitive weirdos around, because nowhere is a monolith, but overall Smallville is gonna roll with it and be chill about it while ALSO being incredibly out of touch with the up-to-date terminology/language and having very little grasp of the minutiae of queerness in general ( aside from a couple of very quiet people who are gonna feel a WAY about finding out that Conner Kent is trans and went completely unclocked all this time, and seeing how most of the town’s taking finding out really well, and does that maybe mean . . . ). 

the one where Kon isn’t the father: Smallville has politely not asked any questions about Tim aside from if he wanted a baby shower or not, but also ALL of Smallville knows Tim was Conner’s “boyfriend” and Kyra is “his” daughter. That’s just gossip-by-osmosis that all of Smallville knows. A lot of casseroles and crocheted things and quilts have happened to the Kent household since Tim showed up pregnant and traumatized. And baby stuff donations. And babysitting offers. And general helpfulness in general. People weren’t necessarily close to Kon, but a lot of people felt very bad about what HAPPENED to Kon, especially after finding out about Kyra. Not that any of them actually KNOW what actually happened to Kon or the truth about Kyra, but that’s a clone of a different gene donor, okay?? OKAY.

[suzukiblu]

Jon and Martha, professional soul parents is It will come back by Hozier!!!

Superman . . . Conner, he tries to think of himself as, but it still feels hard and really intimidating to do . . . Superman meets up with Jonathan and Martha (not Pa and Ma; not yet) again the next day after changing back into the same civilian clothes as he wore for lunch. He doesn’t have any others, obviously, and he already spent most of the rest of the money Jonathan gave him on, like, snacks and whatever last night and this morning. They’re supposed to be getting lunch again, but he just gets hungry real easy, it feels like, so . . . 

Hopefully that’s okay. Like–Jonathan didn’t say he had to give the change back or had to spend it all on clothes, so . . . 

They meet up at Metropolis Park–not Centennial Park, which is where the original Superman’s tomb . . . well, was, anyway. Superman’s not actually sure how many people even know it’s empty right now, so . . . 

That’s sort of a weird thought, in retrospect. He’s not sure how he feels about it. 

Well–it’s just a body, so . . . whatever, he guesses. Nobody’s in it anymore. So why would it matter where it actually is?

[suzukiblu]

So who would like some familial soulmates with a brand-new teenage superclone and these two really nice old people with a weird amount of very niche Superman-related knowledge that he just met for the new year??

all cannot be lost when there is still so much being found

"It really is so good to meet you, baby," she says, smiling tremulously at him. He can process hearing "baby" even less than he could "son". "I'm Martha Kent. This is my husband Jonathan. You can call us Ma and Pa, once you're comfortable with it."

"What's your name, son?" the old guy–Jonathan, Superman tries to think, because thinking "Pa" sounds way too intimidating right now–Jonathan asks. Superman knows what he wants to say, but . . . 

But for the first time, saying "Superman" doesn't feel . . . honest. 

"Experiment Thirteen," he admits in a mutter, hiding his hands behind his back after all, and both Jonathan and Martha's faces tighten.

[suzukiblu]

Real

Superman . . . thinks about the name. Turns it over in his head like he would if he were holding something especially fragile or delicate. Feels like maybe the Kents are about to change their minds and take it back, even though the whole thing was their idea anyway. Feels . . .

He doesn't know how he feels, right now.

He thinks this might be what wanting to cry is, though.

Or maybe it's something bigger than that.

"We can think of something else," Martha offers. "Don't feel obligated to take it, if you don't like it."

"It's, uh . . . not that," Superman says, staring down at the table. "I just . . . it feels weird? The idea of . . . like, I wouldn't have even thought I'd have soulmates at all. Especially not . . . you know, familial ones."

Especially not parents, of all the damn things.

"Why not?" Jonathan says. "Most people have soulmates."

"Well, yeah, but I'm . . ." Superman tries, and then just trails off for a moment, trying to find the words. He doesn't really know how to explain, but it feels like he should at least make an attempt to. "But I'm not a real person. I'm–you know. A copy."

And not even a very good copy, it's been turning out.

"Your DNA is a copy," Jonathan says. "But your DNA isn't you. It's got nothing to do with your soul."

"But our soulmark's Kryptonian," Superman says, unable to lift his eyes from the table. "I didn't even know what it meant. You had to tell me what it meant."

"Baby," Martha says gently, reaching across the table to squeeze his forearm. "That's not because your DNA is more important than your soul. That's because . . . well . . ."

She hesitates. Glances towards Jonathan. He's already looking at her. They have a very, very complicated-looking conversation with their eyes.

Martha squeezes Superman's arm tighter, and it's all he can do to keep his TTK from completely crumbling under the faint pressure of her grip.

Then she looks back at him.

"We'll tell you when you're older," she promises. "Okay?"

". . . when I'm older?" Superman asks uncertainly, not sure if he should be upset that they're holding something back from him or feel good about the idea that they apparently expect to still know him when he's older. That they apparently expect this whole soulmate thing to . . . to work out. "Why can't you tell me now?"

"Because we don't know how to tell you now," Jonathan says. "Not without it confusing you. And we don't want to say the wrong thing and have you misunderstand it."

"I'm not stupid," Superman mutters as he hunches his shoulders, although he is, in fact, pretty much stupid.

"We don't think that, sweetheart," Martha says. "But you're young, and it's a little . . . complicated. We don't want to hurt you."

The Kents think his DNA isn't more important than his soul. They think it doesn't have anything to do with his soul at all.

They also think they know why their soulmark is Kryptonian despite that, and they don't want to tell him.

Superman has no idea how to feel about that.

Martha reaches out again. Cups his face in her hands again, her soulmark pressing warm and steady against his cheek.

"Please trust us, sweetheart," she says softly. "We'll tell you one day. We promise. Just not yet."

". . . okay," Superman says, because he doesn't know how else to react. What else to say. What else he could even do at all.

He could try to make them tell him, he guesses, but . . . but he . . .

Maybe it would hurt him. Maybe they're right.

And maybe he's a little bit too scared of what that means, coming from his soulmates.

Coming from his . . .

Superman doesn't want to be scared. Doesn't want to be worrying about what might be wrong or what he's missing here or what he might be doing wrong.

He doesn't, but . . .

The original Superman wouldn't be afraid of something like this. The original Superman was probably never afraid a day in his life.

But Experiment Thirteen isn't the original, is he.

Clark must've been scared, he thinks to himself, although maybe it's a bad thing to think. But Clark died in Doomsday's attack. That would've been scary, right? For someone who grew up on a little farm in Kansas with parents like the Kents?

Yeah. Clark probably knew how being scared felt.

It's a stupid and kind of fucked up thing to take comfort from, especially because being afraid of literally dying is so many miles away from just being afraid of getting hurt, but . . .

But it does help, a little.

Though Superman is definitely never, ever going to admit to having had the thought.

Maybe if Clark weren't dead, the Kents would be able to explain what they don't want to explain. Maybe if Clark weren't dead, Superman wouldn't be too afraid to push them on it. Maybe . . .

Just–maybe, he guesses.

Maybe.

Maybe if Clark weren't dead, Superman wouldn't be Jonathan and Martha's soulmate at all. They wouldn't need him then, right?

That's a really fucked-up thought, actually.

Although it's probably true, really. If nothing else, the timing sure as shit implies it. Clark died, the Kents lost their kid, and Superman got mixed up in a petri dish.

Yeah. That's . . . that is very much what happened, isn't it.

Fuck.

[suzukiblu]

Guessing game: Farm

Context: a familial soulmates AU is happening to newly-decanted baby clone "Superman" and Ma and Pa "it's free alien baby" Kent.

The waitress comes back with the drinks and asks if they're ready to order, and then they have to actually read the menu. She leaves them to it. The Zesti does taste really good, but Superman has a hard time concentrating on the menu and barely resists the urge to glance up at Jonathan and Martha every five seconds.

"Oh, wait–can you read yet, kiddo, or do you need some help with that?" Jonathan asks with a faint frown as he glances up at him himself, and somehow the question doesn't sound judgmental at all.

Weird, Superman thinks again.

"Yeah," he says. "Um–Cadmus was educating me with information uploads. I didn't finish them, but I can read and write and do, like . . . well, some math, anyway. I got through trig and precalc, mostly. Uh, and some chemistry and biology. And, like, I can speak English and Spanish and a little Mandarin, and I know basic ASL. I don't think I'm actually as smart as they thought I was gonna be, though, some of it's kinda . . . confusing, to be honest? And they only ever showed me stuff once, I think they just thought I'd . . . you know, get it."

"You're two weeks old!" Martha says with an exasperated huff. "Those damn morons, you're gonna need a lot more than two weeks' worth of yellow sun before you're going to get the eidetic memory or the enhanced intelligence."

"The–what?" Superman blinks. Jonathan and Martha glance at each other, oddly, and then back to him.

"Superman had perfect recall," Jonathan says. "Hyperthymesia. A photographic memory, you might call it."

"Oh," Superman says, blinking again. "Uh–I didn't know that."

"I don't know how much most people ever thought about it, so far as his powers went," Jonathan says with a shrug. "Not quite as flashy as the heat vision or the flying. Actually it's a surprise you can fly this quick, come to think."

"I'm sort of . . . cheating," Superman mutters, ducking his head. "My Kryptonian physiology isn't developed enough to give me the real powers yet and they didn't know how long it might take for them to come in, so they sort of . . . there's like this . . . field, kind of, that the original Superman put off? Subconscious telekinesis, I guess. Skin-tight force field, basically. It's why bullets weren't ripping up his suit all the time and why he could, like, pick up a whole freaking bus or whatever one-handed and it wouldn't just break in half from the fucked-up–uh, the messed-up support. The field would just wrap around whatever he was touching and reflexively keep it together. So Cadmus just kinda . . . copied that and cranked it up to eleven, for me. So I'm telekinetic, kind of?"

"Huh," Martha says, looking a little puzzled. "You know, that never even occurred to me, but it certainly explains a few things."

"It only works when I'm touching something," Superman says, fidgeting uncomfortably and feeling kind of like . . . well, he guesses his powers not being the same as the original Superman's were yet isn't gonna disappoint the Kents, right? Like, why would they care? "It's tactile-based. But I can always use it on myself. So I can fly and pick up real heavy shit and hit like I've got super-strength and make it look like I'm invulnerable. No heat vision or ice breath or X-ray vision or, uh, eidetic memory, though. Or super-speed or super-senses."

And definitely, definitely no enhanced intelligence.

"So you mean you're going to be stronger than Superman was?" Martha asks with a little frown, and Superman . . . blinks.

"Uh . . . I don't think so?" he says uncertainly, not sure where she got that idea. "I don't know how the hybridization of my DNA will affect, like . . . any of the Kryptonian powers. They might turn out weaker than his were, since my genes are sort of already adapted for a yellow sun."

"I don't know, being primed to process yellow sunlight might make your powers end up stronger, on that logic," Jonathan points out reasonably. "Once you grow into them a bit, anyway. And either way you'll have the telekinesis enhancing your strength and invulnerability, and that might get stronger too. And, well, at least some hybrids have a tendency to turn out bigger and stronger than their parent species."

Superman tilts his head. Blinks a couple times.

"Huh," he says.

Well, there's a really freaking cool and absolutely fucking terrifying thought.

"How do you know all that?" he asks. "Are you a biologist or something?"

"I'm a farmer, son," Jonathan says wryly. "I'm talking about mules and wolfdogs."

"You're a farmer?" Superman repeats in absolute bemusement.

"We both are, dear," Martha says. "All our lives. We live out in Smallville, actually, we're just here visiting . . . well. Clark's fiancée. Her name is Lois."

"Where's Smallville?" Superman asks, still bemused.

"Kansas," Martha says. "We have a little farm out there. And . . . well, we'd very much like to take you in, obviously, though I don't know where you're staying right now."

"Just, like–wherever, right now," Superman says awkwardly, trying not to sound as pathetic as he's pretty sure he does even as he wonders how that's supposed to be "obvious". He's not, like, a little kid or anything. It's not like he can't take care of himself. "Like, it's not really . . . just wherever."

Jonathan and Martha glance at each other. Superman feels embarrassed. It's not like it matters where he's staying, and like, he'll find a place, eventually, just . . . he hasn't quite figured out how to do that yet. That's all.

Cadmus, unfortunately, did not prepare him to ever live . . . well. Outside of Cadmus.

"Would you like to visit, at least? Take a look around?" Jonathan offers. "It's not too far a flight from Metropolis."

"Um . . . maybe," Superman says, really not sure what he'd ever do on a farm of all places. Like, in what way is a farm a "Superman" kind of place to be?

Though he guesses it'd be politer than making Jonathan and Martha come to Metropolis. And if they actually . . . if they really want to see him . . .

He could swing by sometimes, that's all. He guesses he'd have to be careful about doing it because probably the Kents aren't gonna want anybody to know they're his soulmates, given the whole "being civilians" thing. Maybe he can just . . . just pretend to be . . . he doesn't know, exactly? Just–maybe some random distant relative or something. Maybe they have some cousins or whatever. Or just . . . something.

Superman actually has no idea how many people hang out with their extended family members like that, to be honest, but it's the best idea he's coming up with right now.

[suzukiblu]

Brother

"Do you want us to call you . . . well, what would you like us to call you, dear?" Martha asks. Superman isn't sure how to answer her. He can't really expect them to call him "Superman" when he's pretending to be a civilian or whatever, but "Superman" is the only name he's ever wanted. And anyway, "Experiment Thirteen" isn't exactly an improvement, so far as passing for civilian goes.

"Uh," he says. "I don't . . . know, I guess. I've never been called anything except, you know . . ."

He trails off, feeling weird and stupid. Jonathan and Martha glance at each other again. It's a little strange to watch, because they clearly understand each other in a way he can't imagine ever understanding another person. Just . . . never. No way.

"Well, we didn't know Clark's birth name when we met him, so we named him after my father," Martha says, which makes Superman immediately wonder exactly how old Clark had been when they met him. He'd just kind of automatically assumed that he'd been older too, but if he'd been young enough that the Kents'd had to name him . . . well, that doesn't make Superman feel any better about any of this. "Well, more specifically, we gave him my maiden name. No one else was left to carry it on, and I didn't want it to be lost."

It is lost, now, Superman thinks. Because of Doomsday.

Because of the reason he exists.

"My father's first name was William, though," Martha says. "Jonathan's father was Samuel. And Jonathan had an older brother named Harry. Died young, the poor man."

"Okay," Superman says uncomfortably, really hoping neither of them is about to suggest "Clark", and Martha and Jonathan both look at him for a moment before sharing another look between themselves.

"Then again, maybe we shouldn't be considering names other people in our lives have been using," Jonathan says. "Seems a bit rude to offer you a secondhand name, considering the clone thing. You're your own man, after all."

"Uh, yeah," Superman tries to agree, because he's not really his own man, but–but he wants to be. Legally, he's pretty sure he's Cadmus's intellectual property more than anything else, but . . .

[suzukiblu]

Swallow for the ask game!

The waitress leaves. Superman resists the urge to fidget. 

He ends up tugging at the cuffs of his gloves and immediately feels self-conscious when the Kents glance down to his hands. They probably already checked out the soulmarks on their own palms, he figures. They were waiting for him for a while, and neither of them are wearing gloves like he's been. 

He hasn't looked, though. Not at his hands or theirs. 

It doesn't matter, obviously. Whatever the marks look like, they're just . . . marks. There's theories about what different sizes and shapes and colors and placements and all those things might mean, but nothing really substantiated. Nothing concretely proven. Soulmark-reading is more like astrology than anything else. 

Though Superman does hope that they . . . that the mark looks good. Or something. He doesn't like the idea of just leaving some lame random-looking Rorschach-test squiggle on Jonathan and Martha. Which–okay, Superman's never actually heard of anyone actually disliking their soulmark, but also he has very limited life experience and doesn't trust that Cadmus told him everything, so . . . so maybe the Kents might not like theirs, if . . . if he's . . . 

Honestly, he's still surprised that he has a soul to be marking anyone with. And he's not–he isn't the real Superman. 

He isn't even Clark Kent, whoever Clark Kent actually was. 

So maybe Experiment Thirteen's soul isn't going to look very appealing, next to Clark Kent's. 

Superman's jaw tightens. The idea of Jonathan and Martha maybe comparing their marks is . . . 

He doesn't like that idea. 

Actually, that idea very literally makes him want to throw up. He doesn't know if his physiology is even capable of that, maybe that's not an actual thing for Kryptonian-human hybrids and it's not like any other ones exist for him to be asking, but . . . 

But. 

Superman swallows.

[suzukiblu]

Ask game: yearn or wistful

Jonathan and Martha are sitting side-by-side by the closest window to the door, and they left the other half of the booth empty for . . . him, Superman guesses. There are three menus on the table, but it looks like they haven't even touched theirs.

"We thought you'd appreciate getting a little bit of sun," Martha says, smiling sadly at him as he slides into the booth. "All things considered."

"I guess," Superman says awkwardly, because he does appreciate it but it's also something he probably wouldn't have thought of himself. The idea that Jonathan and Martha did is . . . weird, a little. Like the idea that they're already thinking about him at all is weird. "Uh, so . . . I'm sorry about, uh . . . about your . . . son."

"Clark," Martha says, her smile turning even sadder. Superman barely represses a guilty wince. "He was . . . he was a good man. We're very proud of him. He died in Doomsday's attack."

"Oh," Superman says, his heart sinking into his gut.

He only exists because of Doomsday.

"We wish you could've met him, kid," Jonathan says with a wistful expression. "He always wanted a sibling growing up. Martha and I couldn't have biological children, but when we met Clark and he marked us . . . well. That was a surprise, but a gift. And so are you."

"He was your soulmate too?" Superman asks uneasily. He's not sure how he feels about that idea. It makes him . . . nervous.

They know he only exists because of Doomsday, don't they? Like . . . they must, right? Nobody needed another Superman until the first one died, after all.

So he only exists because of something that killed the son they already had. The one they were proud of. The one who was already their soulmate.

The one who was a good man and a gift.

This–might've been a mistake, Superman realizes.

This was definitely a mistake.

[suzukiblu]

🤔 "cape" or "breath" for the wip guessing game?

"And does 'Sir' have a name?" Damian asks, the lenses of his mask narrowing. "Preferably first, middle, and last." 

"I guess?" the kid says with a shrug. "Probably. Most people have 'em, right? Like, the real ones, I mean. But everybody just called him 'Sir' when he was here." 

"What did he look like?" Jay asks. 

"An asshole. Which, now that I'm thinking about it, 'Asshole' is a way better thing to call him than 'Sir'," the kid muses consideringly. Jay chokes on a laugh. Damian looks exasperated by the lack of intel. The staff just seems very, very nervous. And Jon . . . 

Jon is kind of comforted, actually. This kid was grown in a tube and force-fed who the fuck knows what kind of information, but he sounds nothing like Jon would expect from someone born and "raised" in a lab environment. Like, he isn't sure how the kid could sound less like he belonged in a lab environment. 

So that's . . . yeah. That's definitely comforting, Jon thinks, and doesn't think about volcanos at all. 

"Here," he says, holding his cape out to the kid and getting a blank look in return. The kid, admittedly, doesn't seem to be all that concerned about standing around naked in a room full of other people. Seeing as he was basically just assembled in a lab in roughly twenty hours and he's literally never worn anything that wasn't life support, Jon guesses that makes sense. 

Definitely another "merits of murder" thing, though. 

.

.

.

"It only works when I'm touching something," Superman says, fidgeting uncomfortably and feeling kind of like . . . well, he guesses his powers not being the same as the original Superman's were yet isn't gonna disappoint the Kents, right? Like, why would they care? "It's tactile-based. But I can always use it on myself. So I can fly and pick up real heavy shit and hit like I've got super-strength and make it look like I'm invulnerable. No heat vision or ice breath or X-ray vision or, uh, eidetic memory, though. Or super-speed or super-senses."

And definitely, definitely no enhanced intelligence.

[suzukiblu]

I'd be remiss if I didn't say "kryptonite" by 3 doors down for the parasite! and "clean light" by the mowglis for... any of the soulmate aus, I think, but the one that comes to mind most readily for me with that song is the one with Jonathan and Martha Kent being Superboy's soul-parents. <3

the parasite:

The car comes up the drive. It doesn’t look like a Batmobile, but it drives like one. Dick is behind the wheel, unsurprisingly. Damian being in the backseat with Jon is . . . more surprising, maybe. Clark’s assuming he and Jon still spend time together, but he doesn’t actually know, he realizes with restless nausea. He doesn’t know if Jon is still active as Superboy, or . . .

It’s hard to imagine why he’d want to be, after what Clark’s let happen. 

After what Clark’s done.

Jon and Martha, professional soulparents:

Jonathan and Martha are waiting on a bench just inside the park entrance and see Superman coming at the same time, and both their faces tighten just a little at the sight of him, which–worries him, maybe. But then they both relax and look relieved, like they thought maybe he wasn’t gonna come at all.

Well, he’d thought maybe they wouldn’t show up either, so . . .

[suzukiblu]

“Scared”?

Superman doesn't want to be scared. Doesn't want to be worrying about what might be wrong or what he's missing here or what he might be doing wrong.

He doesn't, but . . .

The original Superman wouldn't be afraid of something like this. The original Superman was probably never afraid a day in his life.

But Experiment Thirteen isn't the original, is he.

Clark must've been scared, he thinks to himself, although maybe it's a bad thing to think. But Clark died in Doomsday's attack. That would've been scary, right? For someone who grew up on a little farm in Kansas with parents like the Kents?

Yeah. Clark probably knew how being scared felt.

It's a stupid and kind of fucked up thing to take comfort from, especially because being afraid of literally dying is so many miles away from just being afraid of getting hurt, but . . .

But it does help, a little.