Archive of Our Own

Clark was in the middle of his pitch session when the alert buzzed in his pocket. He just had to get through feedback and he could excuse himself.

Another minute passed. Clark gestured to maps and photographs Jimmy had taken while Perry nodded along. His League Comm buzzed again. And again. And again. 

His stomach dropped while Perry gave his notes. He wasn’t listening. Perry gave him the green light and Clark finally sat down.

The alert came in urgently, a drug raid in Metropolis gone wrong. Multiple agents and officers were now being held hostage by Intergang. 

The number of messages was the first thing he noticed, and then a call came through. 

WONDER WOMAN - 03

He excused himself, stepping outside of the glass panelled walls of the conference room and lifted the comm to his ear.

“Kal?” She sounded terrified.

“What’s the situation?” Clark swallowed the creeping acid in this throat that accompanied very bad news.

“Superboy’s been shot,” Diana said, her voice tight like she was trying not to cry.

Static buzzed through Clark’s head, like his ears were ringing. “How bad is it?” He could figure out what happened later.

“Get here now, Kal. Please,” Diana begged.

Okay. It was bad. Very, very bad.

Clark pushed open the glass door. The eyes in the conference room went to him. He caught his reflection in the window: pale, eyes already wearing the first minute of what might be endless worry. “Excuse me, I’m sorry – I have to go. My son –” Clark exhaled sharply, “my son was in a car accident.”

“Go,” was all Perry said.

Clark went, hitting the stairwell at a human-paced run, before jetting off to the scene.

Police cars, drug agency vans, the mobile hostage unit set up, and emergency medical services were swarmed around the building like wasps on rotting fruit, making endless noise. The static in Clark’s ears hadn’t died down, if anything, it had only gotten louder. He couldn’t focus his hearing on anything or anyone. He didn’t want to think about what he couldn’t hear if he tried to listen for it. It was a miracle he remembered to change into his suit before touching down where he saw the silver bracers around Diana’s arms as she crouched down over someone.

Kon was laid out on the sidewalk, the heels of his red boots hanging off the curb. 

Kryptonians don’t bleed that much. Kryptonians can’t bleed that much.

The static lessened as the crowd of first responders physically stepped back as he moved forward. Diana didn’t move her hands but seemed to beckon him with her face alone. Her fingers were pressed just left of Kon’s nose, the gauze was soaked through. Kon’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and blood was leaking from the corners of his mouth. His eyes were clenched closed. Clark couldn’t tell where his son’s black curls ended and the pool of blood under him began. 

“I’m here, Kon-El. You’re going to be okay, sweetheart,” Clark was pretty sure he said out loud as he knelt and ripped open another package of gauze before motioning to Diana to remove the soiled bandage. The bullet hole was perfectly round, angled down, into Kon’s mouth. Clark pressed the gauze down and started to scan through Kon’s face. 

The bullet had shattered one of his lower right molars and ricocheted into his neck, settling between his first and second vertebrae. The static buzzed louder, blocking out the pounding of his own heart and the weak, thready pulse in Kon’s throat.

Diana’s hands firmly cradled the base of Kon’s skull as she gave him the sitrep.

Kon was the first person here after the police. Someone was ready for him with a bullet coated in liquid Kryptonite, probably hoping he was Superman.

Someone gave them a neck brace and his hands were steady as Diana helped him fit the cervical collar under Kon’s chin. Kon’s breath hitched and he cried out, his eyes opening wide in pain. His left eye was red everywhere except the constricted pupil, the other was watery, blurring his grey eye.

Those eyes, weeping and bleeding, focused on Clark, clearing the static for just a moment, looking at Clark for help, to save him. 

“Dad–” Kon choked out, blood pouring out of his mouth and rolling down his chin, pooling in the hollow of this throat, endlessly dark. His left hand dragged on the concrete to reach for Clark’s foot. 

Clark held his hand. “Don’t move. Don’t move, Kon-El, I’m right here. Don’t move. Don’t try to talk.”

Kon’s breath shuddered again and his eyes rolled back. That thready pulse faded as though it had never been there.

“Kon-El!” Clark dug his knuckle into Kon’s sternum, trying to wake him back up, trying to get him to start breathing, to feel his heartbeat. “Take over pressure here,” Clark nodded to Diana. She started to bandage around his head to pack the gauze in place.

Clark unzipped Kon’s jacket and started compressions on his chest.

“Come back to me,” he grunted. “Come back to me, Kon-El.” For every two compressions a human heart needed, a Kryptonian heart needed a third. Every thrust that cracked a rib was another compression that kept that Kryptonian heart pumping. “Come on, honey, come back to me.”

“Steel!” Diana called. The sound of metal on concrete grew closer.

“Oh my God,” John Henry said inside his suit. The voice modulator was unable to conceal the edge of hopelessness in that one sentence.

“I’ve alerted the WatchTower, they’re getting the MedBay ready. Take over here,” Diana instructed.

“Can do.” John Henry stepped back and started convening with the first responders.

“The nearest Zeta is a couple seconds of flight for me. I can take him. Stay here, Diana. They need you,” Clark said.

Diana protested, “Kal, I’m not leaving you and K–”

“Please.” Clark looked away from Kon, getting paler and paler, meeting Diana’s eyes. “Please.”

Diana secured the bandage and nodded, shifting back on her knees.

“Superman!” Someone shouted. More followed. Police. Reporters. People who looked to him to save the day. Superman. Superman. Superman.

Superman was one of the only people on Earth who could get Kon to the WatchTower MedBay in less than sixty seconds without making his injuries worse. Anyone could manage a hostage negotiation.

He would have to stop compressions while he flew, so he needed to adjust Kon quickly. He supported his neck and back, just like if he was a baby. Blood ran down his hands, leaking under his cuffs and trailing down to his elbows, cooling in haunting lines as he made for the Zeta.

While the scene at the raid had been a widespread blur of motion, noise, and people, the movement of others as his feet hit the Zeta pad in the WatchTower was precise and concentrated. Clark moved instantly when directed. He gently placed Kon down on an operating table and without being asked, immediately grabbed a Kryptonite-coated needle and hung up a bloodbag just outside the room before pulling back his sleeve, tapping the vein in the ditch of his elbow, and securing it with tape.

Kryptonians don’t bleed that much. Kryptonians can’t bleed that much.

The static returned, full force, as Clark scratched at the drying blood on his hands and arms, flakes falling onto the white speckled tiles. The surgeons moved quickly and precisely on the other side of the doors, calling for instruments and bandages and things he didn’t want to believe his son needed.

When he filled one blood bag, he handed it off and started on another. He’d bleed himself dry if it gave Kon a chance. He sat with an elbow on his knee and his head in his hand. He hadn’t even had time to call Lois. She would have to find out through the news. Jon was just getting out of school and Clark was just… there. Useless, save for the two or three liters of blood he could spare.

The static blocked out the buzzing of his League Comm, until he saw the ID on the screen.

BATMAN - 02

He picked up, not knowing if he would even be able to get words out. The world focused on the voice on the other end of the line.

“Clark,” Bruce’s normal Batman growl was soft, almost prayer-like.

“Hi,” Clark choked out.

“How is he?” Bruce asked.

“I don’t know.” Clark shook his head. “They’re saying thirty or forty percent blood loss. His body’s in shock, they don’t –” Clark’s breath came out like a pant as heat rose up to his eyes. “Oh my God,” his voice cracked, “oh my God, he’s–”

“He’s a strong kid,” Bruce tried.

“He’s barely seventeen years old.” Clark pressed his other hand over his eyes. “If I had just left when I got the initial alert –”

“Clark, you couldn’t have known,” Bruce cut in immediately.

This was different. This wasn’t a disaster with countless strangers. This was his son.

“Six minutes. He was scared and bleeding out and I ignored it for a meeting!”

“You didn’t know. Don’t do this to yourself, please,” Bruce pleaded.

Clark’s voice cracked, “Oh my God, I was killing him –”

“Clark,” the Batman growl returned. This must have been what every Robin heard when they were spiraling at one point or another. “You are not responsible for this. You got him to help when you got there. No one else could have done that in under six minutes. You are there, donating your blood, because you are the only person who can. You are exactly who Conner needs right now. This is not your fault, Clark. I refuse to let you blame yourself for this.”

“Oh God,” Clark inhaled shakily.

“Have you spoken to Lois?” Bruce’s all-business tone was strangely helpful, like this was just another mission. 

“No, she was at a press conference, I didn’t even get the chance.”

“I’ll call her and get her up there if you want.”

“Please.”

“You’re doing everything right, Clark. You’re exactly where you need to be. There’s no guide for what to do when your child gets hurt like this.”

Bruce would know.

“I’ll have Lois to you within the hour,” Bruce said, his voice a mite softer.

“Thank you,” Clark said.

His comm was on the floor. He wasn’t sure if he even ended the call.

“Superman?” A masked and scrubbed doctor stepped out of the operating room.

“Yes?” Clark stood, holding onto the IV infusion pole.

She pulled down her mask with her ungloved hands. Doctor Harendra Bandal. She’d operated on Nightwing before when he’d slipped a disc a few years previous.

“I have an update on Superboy’s condition.”

Dead was technically a condition, but that wasn’t normally how doctors broke the news to panicked parents. That was a good sign.

Clark nodded. Dr. Bandal showed him imaging taken of Kon’s head and chest on a screen in her hands.

“We’ve been able to stem the bleeding, though he will continue to need whole blood until his body recovers,” she began, gesturing at Kon’s skull. “He’s almost out of the woods. Just shy of stable but improving.”

Stable.

Clark nodded. He could easily spare another liter or two if needed.

“Our current concerns surround the bullet.” Dr. Bandal’s finger tapped the screen and the image zoomed in. “It is currently wedged between his C-1 and C-2 vertebrae, which, even with Kryptonian physiology, is still a very risky area, especially with the amount of swelling around the bullet, and the Kryptonite still in his system. So we’re between two options, and as Superboy’s guardian, it’s your decision on which course we take.”

“What are the options?”

“The first option is to operate on Superboy’s spine. We would need to make an incision from here to here and remove the bullet.” She made a sweeping arc with her finger, drawing a yellow line from under Kon’s ear to his collarbone. “However, with the blood loss he’s experienced, and the Kryptonite around the bullet, he could continue to bleed almost uncontrollably, and that’s before we consider the risk of spinal damage.”

“Spinal damage?” The static encroached around Clark again.

“There is a possibility that removing the bullet as his body tries to heal around it would result in damage to the vertebrae and put him at risk of paralysis below the neck, but if the procedure is successful, he would likely recover more quickly with less complications, cutting the effects of Kryptonite poisoning in half.”

The look on his face must have been something awful for Dr. Bandal to continue without missing a beat. “The second option is we repair Superboy’s jaw and maxilla here.” She pointed to the bullet hole. “And leave the bullet until the Kryptonite flushes out of his system over the course of the next few days. After Superboy heals, he would likely be in better condition for a later surgery to remove the bullet. Either way, he will end up being exposed to Kryptonite scalpels.”

“So it would stay in his neck? Aren’t there risks with that as well? If it moves?” And it was drenched in Kryptonite – it would hurt the whole time.

“There are,” Dr. Bandal agreed, “but we would stabilize the craniocervical area to fight swelling and migration with a traction device called a halo. He would wear an orthopedic ring attached to his skull with surgical pins, and weights would be used to keep that area in position.” She pulled up an image of a young adult wearing one. It looked like half of Mr. Freeze’s helmet without the glass.

“He would be able to be up and walking within a few days and remain in the halo for three to six weeks,” she continued, “probably on the shorter end of that timeline based on the rate of his healing. Once he’s stabilized, we can operate, since the bullet putting pressure on his spine could affect gross motor skills on his right side, but we won’t know until he tries. But if the bullet doesn’t seem to be negatively affecting him beyond Kryptonite poisoning, we can leave it for the time being.”

That didn’t sound like the end of the world. Uncomfortable and embarrassing for a teenager, sure, but he’d be an uncomfortable and embarrassed teenager who was still alive. Kon would never forgive him if something went wrong and he was unable to move below the chin. He would hate Clark for the rest of his life for keeping him hooked up to machines and constantly monitored. Kon would rather be dead than live like he was back in Cadmus for even a minute.

“So there’s really only one option. Leave the bullet.” 

Dr. Bandal nodded and gestured for the blood bag. Clark clamped off the tube and she removed it from the infusion pole. “I’ll have someone bring you another bag and keep you updated.”

“Thank you, Doctor Bandal. Thank you.”

“You got him to us just in time.” Dr. Bandal squeezed his arm and re-entered the operating room.

A nurse arrived a minute later and hooked up another bag for him. He was sitting, stunned, relieved, so angry with himself he could burn a hole from here to the moon. 

He leaned back, wrapping his cape around his shoulders and the static was gone, just the buzz of the overhead lights and the soft beeping and chatter through the operating room doors. The kryptonite needle was draining his energy and he felt like a leaky milk bucket.

The clicking of heels on the tile twenty minutes later made him sit up.

Lois.

She turned the corner, looking like the barncat after a tornado. She saw him and started running.

“Is he alright?” she panted as she practically fell into his arms. Careful of his IV, he hugged her as tight as he could.

“He’s going to be okay.” Clark’s lower lip trembled. 

Lois made a relieved sound and the last two hours hit him all at once. 

“He’s going to be okay,” he repeated as his breath hitched against her shoulder.

Her arm held the back of his head. “I saw you on the Planet’s feeds –”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you.” Clark shook his head. “I had wasted too much time getting to him.”

“You were exactly where you needed to be.” Lois didn’t let go.

“That’s what Bruce said,” Clark sniffed.

“He also said you were a wreck,” Lois’ nails started to gently scratch through his hair.

“I was. I am.” Clark quickly wiped at his face as he withdrew. He lowered himself into the chair and Lois stood in front of him, still hugging his head and shoulders as he sat with his arms around her waist. “Where’s Jon?”

“Your parents’. Bruce had him picked up and flown to Smallville. Damian is with him. Tim apparently threw a batarang at Bruce’s head when he wouldn’t let him Zeta up to see Kon.”

Clark chuckled, but it took effort. “He’ll have plenty of time to see him.”

Lois sat next to him, holding his free hand. “What did the doctors say?”

Clark repeated what Dr. Bandal had told him.

Lois nodded knowingly. “You told them to leave it.”

“There was no sense in risking it while he’s so weak.” 

“I agree,” Lois said, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. “How are you feeling in all this?”

Clark sighed. He was exhausted. He was angry. He wanted to start sobbing and not stop until Kon was up and moving again. Kon’s bloody eye, the hole in his face, the spit and blood pouring out of his mouth while he reached for him, begging him to make it all stop. “I’m scared,” he said.

“I’m scared too.” Lois leaned her head on his shoulder. “Can we be scared together?”

“No one else I’d rather be scared with.” Clark leaned his head on top of hers.

“Same here, Smallville.”

Clark filled a fourth blood bag. The nurse who took them and helped remove the needle in his arm told him and Lois to get some rest. Someone would find them when Kon was in recovery. They went to Clark’s WatchTower dormitory to have a quiet place to settle. Clark took a shower, scrubbing the last of the dried blood from the nooks and crannies of his hands, and dressed in comfortable clothes, jeans and a blue sweatshirt. Lois curled up against him on his relatively small dorm bed and they called the farmhouse from the satellite phone in the room.

“Hello?” Pa’s voice was its usual, kind self on the other end. 

“Hey, Pa,” Clark said, really feeling the lingering effects of the Kryptonite needle in the headache creeping its way around his temples. “I’m here with Lois.”

“Hi, Jonathan,” Lois said from the spot she had made for herself nestled in the crook of Clark’s neck.

“Hey sweetpeas,” Pa’s voice was cautious then, quiet. Pa didn’t want to loudly receive bad news. Jon and Damian were probably at the kitchen table or in the living room – within earshot of the downstairs landline. “How’s everything? Alright?”

“Yeah Pa, Conner’s gonna be okay,” Clark said with a hard-won smile that came easier than the last one.

The sigh of relief was immediate. “Thank the stars. Ma and I have been worrying ourselves sick.”

“I would have called earlier, but Kon is still in surgery and he was touch-and-go for a while there,” Clark said. “He’s stabilized and the doctors are working on patching up the worst of it now.”

“Those surgeons you have up there are miracle workers, I swear,” Pa said.

“We are very lucky Conner had the doctors he did,” Lois replied.

“Absolutely,” Pa agreed. “You wanna talk to your Ma and Jon?”

“Please, if you wouldn’t mind, Jonathan,” Lois asked.

“Not at all, honey,” Pa said before his voice grew muffled and distant. “Martha, phone for you.”

Clark could hear the television set now. They were watching Jeopardy!, just like they did every evening. Jon and Damian were giving answers on a safari category. 

“What is an okapi!” Both of them shouted at the same time.

Clark smiled again. Easier than the last.

“Who is it?” Ma’s voice grew louder and the receiver switched hands. “Hello?”

“Ma, it’s Clark and Lois,” Clark said, ever-patient with his parents’ lack of caller ID. They’d had the same tangerine-colored Trimline phone in the hall since Clark was a teenager, when he’d begged them to replace the crackly old rotary phone that had originally been installed in the house.

“Hey babies, how are y’all holding up?” Ma asked in that same sweet, careful tone that was prepared for the worst.

“We’re doing just fine. Kon’s gonna be okay,” Lois said.

“Thank goodness. Jon’s been asking if we can call you. Want me to put him on?”

There wouldn’t be any more conversation with Ma until after Jon spoke to them. That woman could read a room she wasn’t even in.

“Please, Ma,” Clark asked, taking a deep breath.

“Jon, your parents are on the phone,” Martha called gently.

Clark could hear Jon running down the hall, his rapid breathing creating fuzz on the phone. “Mom? Dad? What’s going on? Is Kon alive?” He was already sniffling.

“Deep breath, baby,” Lois said. “Your brother is going to be okay.”

Clark was even more explicit. “Kon’s alive and coming out of surgery soon.”

“No one let me watch the news. Mr. Wayne said Kon got hurt and it was serious. What happened?” Jon asked, holding the phone close to his mouth so the receiver caught every breath.

Lois looked up at Clark. He swallowed.

“Buddy, someone shot Kon,” Clark said calmly, clearly.

Jon’s breath hitched.

“The bullet had Kryptonite on it, so it hurt him when it normally wouldn’t. He lost a lot of blood and I had to take him to the WatchTower so the surgeons could help him so he can start healing and getting better.”

“Kon and I have the same blood type. We can donate blood, right Dad?”

“You’re a little too young to donate blood yet, sport,” Clark said, wondering how Jon could fit a heart so big in that little body.

Lois chimed in, “Dad was able to donate blood so Kon could use it. You don’t have to worry about that until you’re Kon’s age.”

“Where did he get shot?”

Clark swallowed again. “Jon, it might sound scary, but the bullet hit Kon right next to his nose.”

“What?” Jon’s voice squeaked.

“It’s not like in movies or video games. A lot of people live after their head has been shot. Your brother is one of those people. His face is going to be bandaged for a little while and he’ll have to wear some funny looking gear on his head for a few weeks, but he is going to be okay, okay?”

“I want to see him,” Jon whimpered. 

“Us too, baby. He’ll be out of surgery soon,” Lois said.

“One of us will come get you in the morning and you can see him if he’s up for it, okay, pal?” Clark asked.

“Okay,” Jon sniffled again.

“I’m sure Kon wouldn’t mind if you slept in his old room on his big bed,” Lois offered enticingly.

“Can Damian sleep over?”

“You’ll have to ask your grandparents, but I don’t see why not,” Clark replied.

“Grandma, can Damian sleep over tonight?” Jon asked without raising his voice. Ma must have been nearby.

“Of course, honey, we’ll just need to ask Damian’s dad,” Ma said.

Clark could almost see her fondly ruffling his hair.

“Father will be amenable to an overnight stay. Can we feed the cows in the morning?” Damian’s voice called from the living room.

“We can always use more hands around here!” Pa said, voice just as distant.

“I’ll call Mr. Wayne, but it sounds like you’ve got a plan, buddy,” Clark chuckled.

“Come get me the second he wakes up,” Jon said.

“He’s gonna need rest, and you will too. We’ll see you first thing after breakfast.” Lois negotiated beautifully, as always.

“Fine. Tell Kon I love him and I’m glad he’s okay. See you tomorrow.”

“We’ll tell him. Slept tight, Jon. We love you,” Clark said.

“Love you too. Don’t forget to ask Mr. Wayne!” Jon reminded

“I won’t,” Clark promised, already texting Bruce.

“Goodnight, baby,” Lois said, taking the satellite phone from him.

“Night, Mom. Love you. Bye.” Jon hung up the phone with the sound of plastic on plastic.

“That went well,” Lois observed.

“We’re raising some tough kiddos, you and me,” Clark dropped his phone onto his stomach.

“Are we really good at this?” Lois asked, the idea dawning on her like surprise.

“I don’t want to be good at this part of parenting.” Clark frowned.

“You’ve got a point.” Lois mirrored his pout.

Clark’s phone buzzed and he chuckled looking at the screen.

“What?” Lois asked, yawning into his sweatshirt.

“Bruce said Damian was only staying in Smallville for the cows.”

“The kid knows what he wants.” Lois shrugged “Can’t blame him for striking while the iron’s hot.”

Surgery lasted another four hours. 

In the first hour, Clark got the notice that the officers held hostage had been released, unharmed. There was one shooting injury to one of the Intergang members, and they had the man who allegedly shot Kon in custody. Mike Gunn, an unfortunate man physically corrupted by Dabney Donovan and Apokolips technology; cloned over and over at Cadmus before Kon’s time. 

Of course it was a Cadmus clone. Kon just couldn’t catch a break from them.

It was near midnight, Metropolis time, when there was a knock on Clark’s dormitory door. He had stayed awake, listening to Kon’s heart beat while Lois slept. Clark arranged pillows around Lois, who grunted and rolled over while he got the door. 

A nurse stood in the hall, looking a bit surprised when he opened the door. Clark realized it was probably because he was missing his cape and boots.

“Superboy is out of surgery. He’s been moved to M-8. His doctors can go over the next steps with you.”

“Thank you,” Clark nodded with a smile and the door slid shut. He changed into his suit and sat on the edge of the bed, gently rousing Lois. 

She was up and alert, walking in lock-step with him to the elevator.

Dr. Bandal was outside the MedBay room with two other exhausted surgeons. Clark shook each of their hands, thanking them.

They recapped the procedures, what was done to repair the damage to Kon’s face and jaw, the dental surgeon’s repair of his molar, and the stabilizing they did around his neck and broken ribs to prepare for his halo that would be installed in the morning when he could sit more upright. His head would need to be shaved. 

Another pit formed in Clark’s stomach as the memory of Kon when the League first found him in the Cadmus tanks resurfaced in his mind, just starting to grow out a buzzcut.

“He’s still weak, but he’s breathing on his own and his heart rate and blood pressure have already improved. We’ve projected the Kryptonite will be out of his system within the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours. It’s possible he won’t fully wake up until then, but he could also be awake within the next hour. We’re just not sure. Either way, the effects of the Kryptonite poisoning will linger for another few days. It’s likely he’ll be fatigued, groggy, and a little uncomfortable. We’re working on pain management in the mean-time.”

Clark understood. It was always a toss-up with Kryptonian physiology, even more so because of Kon’s human genes.

The door was opened and they were finally allowed to see him. 

Even with ample warning, the sight of Kon tucked into crisp blue and white hospital sheets was like a punch to the gut. Kon was only two or three inches shorter than Clark, but in the hospital bed, he looked little, just a kid, washed in intense yellow sunlight lamps.

The entire left side of his face was bandaged, along with the entirety of his jaw, supported by a soft cervical collar. Bright green spidery veins stretched from his mouth, packed with gauze, to his collarbone. His hair had been rinsed, but laid limp across his face, curling around his ears and brows. The only dark thing in a room of blue and white, and he wouldn’t even have those curls this time tomorrow.

One of his hands found Kon’s, the one that had reached for him that afternoon. The other ran through his hair, pushing it off of his forehead. His skin was cool to the touch and so pale.

He caught a glimpse of Lois, holding Kon’s other hand. Her face was easier to read than a Planet headline: he looks awful.

But she hadn’t seen him on the sidewalk, flatlining and sputtering blood. He would take this bandaged and puffy Kon, paired with the knowledge that he was going to recover, over the uncertainty of seeing his feet hang off the curb and not knowing if he was going to make it to the WatchTower alive.

“Mom and Dad are here, sweetheart,” Clark said, tracing his thumb back and forth over Kon’s fingers, avoiding his IV line. Just another little white scar to add to the hundreds he’d been left with at Cadmus.

“We love you so much,” Lois whispered. “You did so good, baby.”

Clark looked around the rest of the room, blank walls, locked cabinets, a folded cot in the corner, and a grey chair with a clear plastic bag tied closed on the seat.

Kon’s leather jacket was folded up inside, the collar and lining still red, still wet. 

Clark’s breath caught and he bit his lip, screwing his eyes shut and trying to breathe evenly through his nose. It wasn’t enough. He couldn’t catch his breath and the pressure building in his head was more unbearable than the static.

He’d almost lost him. 

In the moment, keeping Kon alive was the most important thing. Even when Kon’s heart stopped at the scene, Clark kept a cool head, worked calmly with Diana, and got him help as fast as possible. But even then, it took nine hours on the operating table, five surgeons, four liters of transfused blood, and no small amount of luck to keep Kon alive. 

How long was Kon alone after he was shot? Did anyone even try to help him until Diana got there? How long had it taken someone to send Clark a message that he ignored for six minutes? How long did Kon think that Clark wasn’t coming? How long would it take until the stains fully washed out of Kon’s jacket lining? Would they ever wash out?

Fighting against his knees that wanted to put him on the floor, Clark kept his footing. “I’m sorry,” his voice was thin and watery as he turned around to Kon and Lois. “I’m so sorry,” he apologized over and over again. To Kon, to Lois, both of them together, for failing their family, for not being there when he needed to be. For having all the power to stop something like this from happening, and not being there.

Lois pulled his head into her shoulder and pulled him back from the precipice of losing himself entirely to the tears, consoling him and telling him he did everything he could, that he couldn’t take the blame for this, that he was the reason Kon was still alive. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to. He just couldn’t. Not with Kon small and pale with half his head in bandages and a bullet still pressing on his spine.

They spoke again briefly with Dr. Bandal, and she headed off to get some rest, but assured them she’d be back in the morning, and someone would be around to check on Kon throughout the night. 

Clark eyed the cot and the chair. The bag on the chair still made his stomach churn and he’d rather stand than move it.

“You’re not going back to sleep, are you?” Lois said from the other side of Kon’s bed.

Clark shook his head, still clinging to their son’s hand. “I’ll wake you before they do the halo. I’ll get Jon in the morning while you stay with him?” 

Lois crossed the room and pushed onto her toes to kiss his cheek. “Try to sleep if you can, okay?”

“No promises,” Clark gave a small smile as her thumb traced along his face. He took her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. “Goodnight. I love you.”

“Love you too, honey,” Lois said. She gave Kon’s arm one last squeeze, then headed back to Clark’s dormitory.

Pulling his cape close around him, Clark unfolded the cot and set it up next to the bed, close enough to keep Kon’s hand in his when he laid down.

He watched as his son’s chest rose and fell in steady waves, and listened to his heart beat in strong Kryptonian triplets, and for the first time since he felt the first notification buzz in his pocket, he let himself relax. The worst of today had passed. There would be bad times tomorrow, but nothing compared to today, and that was a relief Clark would cherish while he traced Kon's hand with his.

“I love you so much, Kon,” Clark said. It didn’t matter if Kon could hear him or not, he’d tell him all the same things when he woke up. “I’m so proud of you and the man you’re becoming, and there is nothing I want more than to see who you’re going to be tomorrow, and the day after, and every day for the rest of your life.” Clark kissed the back of his hand, his voice soft and warm. “I’m the luckiest father in the universe that I got you for a son. Your unwavering kindness and courage in the face of everything this world throws at you inspires me. You have made me a better person for knowing you. For getting the privilege of raising you. And of all the things I’ve done, the things I’m most proud of are you and your brother, who loves you so much. You’re his hero.”

Clark wiped his nose with his sleeve. “I didn’t always do the right thing when it came to you, and I know you’re tired of hearing me apologize,” he chuckled wetly, “but you deserve the world, Kon-El. And I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you at the start. I hope I’ve made a dent in the mess I made. I hope you’ve forgiven me, or can find it in you to forgive me one day.” He squeezed Kon’s hand. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Kon’s hand weakly squeezed back.

Clark gasped and looked at his face, searching for any indication of his waking. But no, nothing, just the quiet and solid rush of air in and out of his lungs. But after today, that was enough.

Nurses came to check on Kon throughout the night, adjusting pain management medication they were pretty sure was working alright, and checking his vitals. They greeted Clark with gentle smiles and went about their work before slipping out as quietly as they came.

It was close to five in the morning, Metropolis time, that Clark felt Kon’s hand clench around his as he stirred. He groaned and shifted, the thin hospital sheets raising and falling as his knees bent.

Somehow still keeping his fingers around his son’s, Clark got to feet, shifting the cot to the side, his stomach in his boots.

Kon let out a small, uncomfortable whine and his eye opened. He blinked slowly, scanning his surroundings. 

Clark smiled at him. “Take it easy, sweetheart, you’re safe. I’m right here. Go back to sleep.”

A grey eye flicked to him and his hand tightened around Clark’s. Clark squeezed back. Kon groaned again in the back of his throat and his eye fluttered shut.

Clark stood, watching and waiting for countless minutes until Kon slipped back into sleep. He called for a nurse and explained Kon had woken up. 

The nurse nodded and adjusted some of the fluids in Kon’s IV, to keep him comfortable, but not as sedated. “We’ll increase the number of rounds and page the doctors when he’s awake for longer than a few minutes. You can call for us again if he’s agitated when he wakes up,” the nurse said, tucking his pen into his scrubs’ pocket.

“Thank you, I will,” Clark replied with a nod.

The nurse headed for the door and stopped just outside the threshold. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Clark tried not to laugh, but a small chuckle snuck out of him, something that held his relief and disbelief. “I’m the lucky one. He… He’s the bravest kid with the biggest heart I know.”

“I don’t doubt it. He’s gotta be tough to go through what he did.” The nurse nodded with a genuine smile.

“Yeah, he is.” Clark smoothed back Kon’s hair.

“Someone will be by,” the nurse repeated and excused himself.

Another hour passed and Kon shifted here and there with no other signs of waking until Clark heard him inhale sharply and saw his storm-tossed grey eye focused on him.

“Hey, buddy.” Clark gently skimmed his thumb over Kon’s unbandaged cheek, reaching the call button with his other hand.

“Wherhpernd?” Kon said, his jaw tight with the swelling in his face. “Ah feh luh hit.” He coughed on the gauze in his mouth.

“I bet you do. Someone shot you with a kryptonite-coated bullet,” Clark said, finding it was getting easier to reckon with the more he said it out loud.

“Ahnaghan?” Kon’s eyebrow raised.

“They took the Intergang members responsible into custody. No one died. One other person got hurt, but not badly, I’m told,” Clark said clearly. “So you don’t have to worry about it. You just focus on you.”

Kon’s eye widened. “Ahn I gonna nye?”

“No baby, you’re not gonna die. You’re going to be okay. I love you so much. You're going to be okay.” Clark smiled, kissing the back of Kon’s hand.

“WhachTawah?” Kon looked around.

Clark nodded. “Had to get you here quick because of blood loss, but the doctors were able to patch you up. You’re going to be in recovery here for a few weeks.”

“Eeks?”

“They couldn’t get the bullet out without hurting you more, so we have to wait until the Kryptonite flushes out of your system, which is delaying your healing process, to get it out.”

Kon grimaced and squeezed his eye shut, pulling his hand out of Clark’s to cover his face and feel around the edges of his bandages. His eye shot open before he even got to his left ear. He looked down at his right hand, panic starting to appear in his eye. His left hand shook as it landed in his lap.

“Where does it hurt?” Clark ventured.

Kon’s breath sped up and a whine peeled out of him. “I cah… oove… marm,” he said between gasping breaths.

Clark came around the other side of the bed and gently took Kon’s hand. “Can you feel me touching your hand?”

“Mmhmm.” Kon moved his chin slightly, close as he could get to a nod and sucked air through his teeth.

Clark moved his hand up Kon’s arm, up to elbow and shoulder. “And my hand here, can you feel me moving it up your arm?” He looked through Kon’s skin to the tense muscles and pinched nerves from his neck to his shoulder.

“Soulder’s Nuh,” Kon said with another nod, following Clark’s movements like a hawk.

“Your shoulder’s numb, okay.” Clark took Kon’s hand again and gave it a squeeze, so Kon could feel it. “The doctors said you were going to have swelling in your spine, so it’s probably affecting your ability to move your arm, since the bullet is still stuck on that side. We’ll ask the doctors about it, okay?”

“Okuy,” Kon said, screwing his eye shut again and trying to steady his breathing.

Clark put his other hand on Kon’s chest, being careful to avoid pressure on his cracked ribs. “Easy. Good breathing. In…. and out. That’s it. One more, in and out… Good. So good, pal. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

The same nurse from earlier knocked and stepped in. “I see we’re awake. How we feeling in here?”

Clark cradled Kon’s face. “He can feel his right arm but can’t move it. It scared him a little.”

“Right,” the nurse logged into the computer and made a few notes. “Well, you’re going to have a fair bit of swelling on your right side until the surgeons can remove the bullet, but as that goes down, you’ll most likely regain movement, especially after the halo is installed.”

“Just swelling, baby. That’ll go away with time,” Clark reassured.

“I’m going to take your vitals and we’ll go through some tests before the doctors come to see you, sound good, Superboy?”

“Kah,” Kon said.

“Sorry?” the nurse asked.

“Kon. You can call him Kon,” Clark translated. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name earlier?”

“Hi, Kon, my name’s Blake,” the nurse said with a wave.

“Thank you, Blake. I’m Kal.” Clark stuck out his hand.

Blake shook it and went about taking Kon’s vitals, asking him questions about his pain, and walking him through some small tests with a penlight and moving his fingers around in Kon’s field of vision, Kon grunting in affirmative and Clark translating the rest.

Kon couldn’t seem to feel much in his face and neck, which was good, the nerve block the surgeons used worked like it should. And while he wasn’t in pain, he was uncomfortable, which meant his body was still reading what a human would experience as pain, so they increased his meds until the doctors could see him. It wasn’t long until Dr. Bandal appeared with a massive plastic-sealed device and vest, accompanied by two other medical personnel.

“Nice to see you again, Dr. Bandal. I can’t thank you enough,” Clark said, shaking her hand.

Dr. Bandal shook his hand and asked Blake to get Lois from the dormitories so she could be present. 

Kon was adjusted into a more upright position and the halo was unwrapped. 

Clark didn’t want to get in the way, but he also didn’t want to touch the bag Kon’s jacket was still in so he could sit in the chair, so he just tucked himself in a corner and let Kon’s team work.

Lois appeared, wearing Clark’s sweatshirt and socks, and her pants from yesterday, her hair thrown into a ponytail.

“Mahm,” Kon said when he saw her, the uncovered corner of his mouth pulling up.

She waited until one of the PAs shifted, and moved to fill the gap, teary-eyed and speaking to him in soft, sweet tones. “Hi, sweetheart. You did so good, baby.” She gently kissed his forehead and combed her fingers through his hair. “I love you so much.”

“Luf you too,” Kon mumbled back, leaning into her hand.

“Does anything hurt?” Lois asked, never taking her eyes off of their son.

“Deh gafe me deh gooh dugs,” Kon’s face went from slack to smiling again, as much as he could. 

Lois looked at Clark.

“‘They gave me the good drugs,’” Clark supplied with a chuckle.

Lois laughed. “I’m sure they did. You get all the drugs you need, honey.”

Kon’s head sank into the pillow. “Yippee…”

When everything was set up, the sun lamps were pushed a little further away so they didn’t roast Dr. Bandal while she talked through the steps of installing the halo. Kon paled when she mentioned they would need to drill anchors into his skull. 

Clark didn’t want to think about what memory was surfacing for him, even as he made affirmative noises while Dr. Bandal continued. She showed them the metal circle and where it would be mounted to Kon’s head, where the weights would be added, and how it would be attached to the vest that was produced from another plastic bag once he was able to move around.

“Dwip,” Kon observed.

Clark laughed behind his hand as Dr. Bandal looked back and forth between the two of them. Kon looked at him to explain.

“He says it’s stylish.”

“Fuhk yea,” Kon agreed.

Clark watched the hair clippers come out and took a step forward.

“If that all makes sense, I think we’re ready to go,” Dr. Bandal said and tucked a drape under Kon’s collar.

Kon drained even more of color hearing the clippers buzz. “Wait!” he managed with unmistakable clarity through the packing in his mouth.

“I know, sport, I know,” Clark started, “but we can’t risk your hair growing around the screws and you getting an infection.”

“Won’t!” Kon whined, his eye starting to glisten. “Dad! ‘m gonna look like Lex Luthor!”

Despite the tightness in his chest at that, this was one way Clark couldn’t come and save the day. “I’m sorry, Kon, they need to. You won’t look like him. It will grow back,” Clark said.

Kon blinked back tears in his eye and tried again to calm himself down, taking deep breaths. 

To her credit, Dr. Bandal turned off the clippers and waited patiently until Kon was breathing somewhat normally. The clippers turned back on and Lois found Clark’s hand, squeezing it tightly as Kon let silent tears roll down his cheek while his hair fell in black tufts around him, clenching the bedsheet in his fist. 

Lois rubbed soothingly on Clark’s back under his cape until Kon was shaved down to a buzzcut and seething about it. Clark prayed Jon would never bring home head lice from his middle school class so they never had to do this again.

The rest of the procedure, though Clark didn’t think it looked like it, was relatively painless. They numbed the area around Kon’s skull where the anchors would go, swabbed them with betadine, and drilled carefully twelve times. Kon didn’t even flinch. Clark definitely did. They added weights to a line strung from a metal rod that came down and clipped onto Kon’s halo.

Once they adjusted the weights, they tested transferring him to a walking frame so he could move around. He was on his feet surprisingly quickly after that and he took a few tentative steps forward once they put his right arm in a sling.

“You are kitted out, kiddo,” Lois said, sitting next to the bag with his jacket in it.

Kon did a slow turn, showing off every angle of his new ‘drip’. “Ah you not ennahtained?” He said with his arm out, his speech clearing up once he had less stress on his throat and jaw. The Kryptonite poisoning did everything it could to wear him out and he had to sit again very shortly, giving Dr. Bandal the opportunity to replace his dressing once he was out of his walking frame. His face had already started to pull together, though the cosmetic work on his skin and cheekbone were still very much apparent. He might end up with a small scar when all was said and done, but there was also a high likelihood of him looking exactly how he did before, only with shorter hair and a bloodied eye in the interim. They removed his mouth packing. His teeth were red.

“Do you want to see your brother when you wake up? He’s at Ma and Pa’s,” Clark asked when Kon looked like he was about to nod off from another dose of painkillers.

“Jonnyyy…” Kon said in a sing-song voice. “My buddy, my pal, my little baby brother Jonnycakes.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Clark laughed. “Mom’s gonna stay here with you while I go scoop him. Don’t do anything cool while I’m gone, okay?”

“Gonna learn to kickflip,” Kon mumbled, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Can’t wait to see it. Love you, baby. Be back soon,” Clark traced the back of his finger along Kon’s cheek. Clark kissed Lois goodbye and grabbed the bag off the chair, trying not to feel the weight of it as he walked through the halls, finally spotting someone not actively running around the MedBay.

“Excuse me,” he asked someone pushing a cart full of linens, “I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of laundry services?”

The woman gave him directions after he declined her offer to take the jacket from him. He thanked her and followed her instructions to a lower level where he was able to pass off the jacket and asked it be delivered to the MedBay when it was done being cleaned.

The employee put on gloves and checked the jacket over. “Should be an easy clean. Don’t worry, Superman, it will be done tomorrow.”

“Thank you, I really appreciate it… Burt,” Clark read off of his nametag.

“Do you want us to work on the pit stains in here while we’re at it?” Burt asked, looking over the jacket over again.

Clark laughed heartily and nodded. “Please, I’d appreciate that even more.”

“It’s a done deal, boss.”

The flight to Smallville was pleasant. The sun was out, there were horizon-stretching clouds moving across the plains in a caravan of white curls, and it didn’t feel like the world had almost ended yesterday. Well, Clark’s world. He had come to know that the world at large cared very little for his feelings.

Spotting Jon, Pa, and Damian on the tractor, driving away from a round bale they’d dropped in one of the fields, Clark headed to the house first.

Ma was cleaning up after breakfast, the early morning sunlight through the kitchen windows catching in her white hair. “Let me wash those dishes for you, Ma,” he said by way of greeting and rolled up his flannel sleeves.

The surprise on Ma’s face quickly turned to something bittersweet as she grabbed him into a tight hug. “Oh, honey, how are you and Lois holding up?”

“We’re fine. Kon’s fine. He just had the traction device he’ll be wearing for a few weeks installed,” Clark said into her hair, hugging her back.

“Poor thing,” Ma said, rubbing his back like she always did when he was upset or agitated as a kid.

“He’s more upset about getting a buzzcut than getting shot.”

Ma laughed and wiped quickly at her face as she pulled back, cupping his face in her hands. “I saw the news footage of you at the scene, that must have been terrifying. Every parent’s nightmare.”

“It wasn’t fun, that’s for sure, but I’m glad I was there,” Clark said, his hand coming up to cover hers on his chin.

“You wanna talk about it?” Ma swished her thumbs back and forth on his cheeks.

“I already had a little bawl about it,” Clark admitted.

“You bawl all you want, sugar, that’s a scary thing your family’s gone through.” Ma hugged him again and he went about washing the dishes.

Clark heard Jon and Damian thundering across the path and through the gate. He steeled himself, dried his hands, and turned as the stormdoor swung open.

“Dad!” Jon yelled, already crying by the time he bolted into the kitchen. 

Clark knelt on the linoleum floor and hushed Jon while he wept into his shoulder. “I know it’s scary, buddy, just let it out,” Clark said softly, holding Jon tight and rubbing his back like Ma did for him just a minute ago.

Looking beyond Jon, Clark saw Damian standing in the doorway, Pa just behind him with his hand resting on his shoulder. His eyes were averted and his hands were twisting around each other, like he wasn't sure what to do with himself except be a passive witness to his friend’s fear and catharsis. 

“Can I see him?” Jon sniffled into Clark’s buttons after a minute. 

“Absolutely,” Clark replied, giving him one more squeeze before Jon pulled back and Clark smoothed his hair with a smile. 

“What about Damian? Can we take him home before we go?”

Clark shrugged “Sure, I don’t see why not—”

“Father will send Drake or Richard to retrieve me,” Damian cut in. “I would not want to wait if my brothers were hurt.” A little color reddened his cheeks. 

Clark looked at Ma and Pa, the silent question of whether or not they could keep him for another few hours. Pa patted Damian’s shoulder. “We can clean out the chicken coop and fix the roof, then we’ll send some eggs home with you, how’s that sound, Damian?”

“Amenable,” Damian replied with the smallest of smiles. “Pennyworth always enjoys farm-fresh ingredients.”

Jon let go of Clark and flew to his friend, squeezing him in a hug. “Thanks for coming. I’m really glad you were here with me.”

The look of surprise on Damian’s face softened and he patted Jon on the back. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” Clark said to his parents, scooping Jon up.

“Always, honey. It’s never a problem to spend time with our grandbaby.” Ma waved her hand dismissively and planted a kiss on Jon’s cheek.

With a few more parting words, Clark grabbed Jon’s backpack by the door and they were off, back to the nearest Zeta.

Once they stepped out into the WatchTower, Clark knelt in front of Jon, holding him by the shoulders. “Listen bud,” he started.

Jon tilted his head cautiously.

“When we go in to see your brother, he’s going to look a lot worse than he actually is. To stabilize his neck, he needs to wear a device called a halo. It’s a big metal ring –” Clark drew a circle over Jon’s head in the air, “that’s attached to his head.” Clark touched the spots on Jon’s forehead where they had drilled into Kon’s skull. “And it’s all connected to a string that keeps his head upright. When he goes home, he’ll have a stiff vest he’ll need to wear for a few weeks. He’s pretty beat up looking and bandaged around his face. Because of the halo, they needed to shave his head, so he doesn’t have a lot of hair anymore. He looks different than he did when you saw him yesterday before school. I just wanted to let you know ahead of time so it’s not a surprise.”

Jon’s eyes were wide, but he nodded and put his hand in Clark’s, walking quietly next to him, keeping his other hand in his pocket to keep from grabbing Clark’s cape like a safety blanket. Not that Clark minded - people, kids, especially, held his cape like it, alone, would protect them. Jon seemed to have self-imposed a rule for himself. Or maybe he was just concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.

They entered the MedBay and Jon inched closer, pulling his shoulders up to his ears. He had spent a little time at the WatchTower here and there, but never for something like this. Clark let Jon take the lead once they got to Kon’s room. Jon knocked softly and Lois appeared on the other side of the open door. Jon threw himself into her legs, and side by side, walked with her to Kon’s bedside, bathed in yellow sunlight. He was sitting upright, with the cervical collar gone and head supported by the traction device.

“Look who’s here, Kon,” Lois prompted, gently getting Kon to open his heavy eyelid. For as much as his face was still slack and pale under his dressings, he smiled bright as anything.

“Jonner!” Kon slurred. “Jooonnnny, my buddy, my radical little brother. How’s-it hanging, Jonnycakes?”

“Kon,” Lois laughed behind her hand.

“What’d I say?” Kon turned his head towards her, eye still half-closed, that smile still hanging lazily on his lips.

“Can I touch him?” Jon asked quietly.

“I’m not gonna break,” Kon harrumped, then added under his breath, “anymore…”

Lois helped ease Jon’s backpack from his tense shoulders. “He has a few broken ribs, so you’ll have to be careful, but –”

“Get on-nup here, Jonnyboy,” Kon patted the bed next to him with a limp hand.

Jon toed off his sneakers and climbed onto the hospital bed. Kon lifted his arm so Jon could fit in right next to him, dropping his arm back down once Jon had snuggled in, carefully and cautiously hugging Kon and burying his face in his hospital gown. Kon itched gently on the back of his sweatshirt, like he did when they were watching television together.

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” Jon murmured into the folds of fabric.

“I’mmokay,” Kon mumbled. “No stinkin’ bullet is gonna take me away from you.”

Jon whimpered and curled up tighter against Kon, who squeezed his arm reassuringly as his eyelid lowered in slow blinks. 

“I love you,” Jon said, looking up at his brother’s face. “I love you. I love you.”

“I love you, too, kiddo,” Kon hummed contentedly and his hand stilled on Jon’s back as he nodded off again.

The next two days were a series of improvements, with a series of set-backs to go right along with. Kon went from sitting, to standing, to slow walking, to asleep before his head could be lowered onto his pillow on a cycle of every few hours. 

Burt personally delivered Kon’s jacket, and it hung on the back of the door, wrapped in a white garment bag.

Clark took the week off of work - cancelled interviews, moved deadlines, and asked that the League not contact him for situations short of the world ending. He called Kon’s school and said he would be absent and started arranging for assignments to be sent to the house. The newsroom at the Daily Planet signed a ‘Get Well Soon’ card for Kon.

You’ll be up and outta there in no time, pal! Keep your chin up!

- Uncle Jimmy

We’re all thinking of you, sweetheart. Get well soon, Conner.

xoxo, Cat

No one tougher than you Tiger! Wishing you a speedy recovery.

- Steve L.

You are a lucky young man. Take it easy, and boss your old man around for me.

- Perry

The yellow sunlamps ran 24 hours a day, and with them, Kon’s medication for the pain for the first two days. The great thing was that the sunlamps were helping Kon flush the rest of the Kryptonite from his body, the bad thing was that the lamps cooked off so much of the Kryptonite by the end of day two, that his body no longer responded to the medication, but there was still enough Kryptonite in his system that it couldn’t heal itself.

His pain went from manageable to unbearable in minutes. Clark woke up from his cat nap in the hospital chair to Kon biting down on his blankets and trying not to cry. “It hurts!” He yelled through gritted teeth.

The room was flooded with people shortly after, who floated the idea of sedating Kon while they brainstormed for another plan.

“Is it gonna hurt when I wake up?” Kon asked, stopping himself from reaching for his neck, though his fingers were tense, claw-like, as though very little was stopping him from ripping the bullet out himself.

Dr. Bandal hesitated. That was everything Kon needed to know.

“Then just leave it!” He groaned. “Crank the lamps.”

“We just need a little time to figure out what will work for you,” Dr. Bandal tried to reason with him.

The look in Kon’s eye was something ragged and grisled, something resigned. It made Clark nauseous. 

“Nothing is going to work. Just let me get through it so it’s over.” Kon grimaced again and pressed his left hand over his right eye.

“How much longer until the Kryptonite’s completely out of his system?” Clark asked from the corner.

Dr. Bandal looked at him, blinking as she answered, “It could be anywhere from two to eight hours.”

Kon’s gaze was growing distant. He wasn’t in his body anymore. He was separating from the pain in his head, in his throat, in his chest. It was haunting and heartbreaking to witness. “I can handle eight hours,” he growled.

Clark thought about the experiments, the torture Kon had gone through at Cadmus. From what little writing the League had been able to recover about Project Kr, and what Clark had read in its entirety, despite his stomach demanding to empty its contents over and over again, Kon had experienced incomprehensible physical pain and suffering at the hands of others and never knew when it was going to end.

“I want to be awake,” Kon grit.

Clark sighed, rubbing his eyes. “There’s nothing else you can think of besides sedation?”

“We will work on it –”

“By the time you come up with something, you’ll have to put more Kryptonite in his system. At that point, his body will have almost flushed everything, if it hasn’t already.”

Dr. Bandal looked between father and son with a look of defeat. “We’ll get to work on something immediately. Increase the sunlamp output,” she directed the nurses and shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

“S-sokay,” Kon managed to choke out with a humorless laugh. “Alien DNA does fucked up things to a guy - ow, fuck!” 

Clark sat on the edge of his bed and let Kon squeeze his hand until it turned white. He wished he could take the hurt away, he would take it on himself to spare Kon another minute of it, but the best he could do was help him get through it.

“You really think you can take eight more hours of this?” Clark asked.

“Of course I can.” Kon hissed through his teeth and drew in a purposeful slow breath.

“You tell me the second it gets to be too much. I’ll be here the whole time.”

“Thanks, Dad. Anyone ever tell you that you’re super?”

Clark chuckled. “Once or twice.”

Sitting with his son, who was working his way through the mental toolkit he’d built to survive being ripped apart and put back together again, Clark tried to talk Kon through it, speaking softly and whispering encouragement, but Kon shook his head, silencing him.

Kon had once rattled off the steps he walked himself through when he was removed from his cloning pod for a trial. It just sort of came up, Clark didn’t even remember what they were talking about, Kon just started talking while sitting in the kitchen one day. 

In the scrambled chaos of his mind, reckoning and finding his own personhood in those brief flashes of conscious life, punctuated with agony, between stints of being in Limbo within the curved walls of his pod, Kon made himself forget. He didn’t remember yesterday, and he didn’t look forward to tomorrow. His life was the moment he was living in, and that was all his life had ever been and would ever be. He survived a year of this by surviving a month of it, a day of it, an hour of it, a second of it, then the next, and then the next. He went somewhere else, somewhere safe within his own mind, shrouded in thoughts of what the world would be like when he got out – what all the things programmed into his mind would feel like. Sunshine on his skin, wind in his hair when no one scraped his scalp clean.

Clark mentioned that people who survived torture used similar tools. Kon didn’t bring it up again for a long time. He said he didn’t need those tools anymore.

Until now.

“It’s different,” Kon said at one point several hours in, when his breaths were ragged and shallow. “This is different than before. This has an end. I know it’s gonna end. It’s gonna end…”

Clark didn’t know what to do with that. He thought he should be glad about that. That Kon was optimistic, in a strange way, that he was getting through this. “I’m so sor–”

“Don’t,” Kon grunted, still slurring his words. “I can’t feel bad. I can’t – I can’t think about it. I can only think about right now.”

“Okay. Okay, I’m gonna be right here with. Just tell me if you need anything.” Clark gently ran his fingers along Kon’s clipped hair.

Kon winced, looking a bit greener around the gills. “Bed pan,” he rasped.

Clark moved quickly, putting the plastic tub in front of Kon before he vomited, and whisking it away just as fast. He wiped Kon’s mouth and chin clean and helped him sit up and take deep breaths, cleaning out his mouth with sterile sponges.

An hour later, between more vomiting and groaning, something shifted. Kon whimpered, tears starting to roll down his cheeks.

“Hey,” Clark hushed, drying his eyes, “what hurts right now, sweetheart?”

Kon’s shoulders shook and his eyes screwed shut again. He found his breath through ragged inhales and exhales. “I used to be stronger than this,” he finally sobbed. “I got soft.”

Clark could almost hear his own heart cracking, splintering and ringing in his ears. He squeezed Kon’s hand, blinking his own tears back. “You are the strongest kid I know, Kon.”

His son tried to shake his head, but couldn’t overcome the tension from the halo. 

How did he explain to Kon that the softness he had found in his daily life was the true strength no one seemed to talk about? That being able to sleep soundly and put down the sword to experience something close to peace was what all the hardship was for? That once the protective ice around your heart melted, it was easier to find joy, to feel for others, and move past the need for a constant shield? That you could depend on others to keep you safe the way you kept others safe? That being able to weather indescribable pain all alone was not the hallmark of strength, but instead was the willingness to lean on the people who loved you when you were vulnerable?

“You didn’t have a choice before. Now you don’t have to do it alone. It’s okay that it hurts. There is no weakness in admitting that. No one – not me, not the doctors, not anyone, would see what you’re going through and say you’re weak. You are not weak, Kon-El. And if you want the doctors to sedate you and start over another day, you can do that. That’s your choice. Just say the word.”

“I just want it to be over,” Kon choked out.

“I know, baby, you’re so close. You’ve been so brave through all of this. Do you want to see this to the end today?”

“Yes. I want it to be over,” Kon repeated hoarsely.

“Does it help to squeeze my hands as hard as you can when it hurts the most?”

“Mmhmm.”

Clark linked the fingers of his other hand with the hand in Kon’s sling. 

In the end, it took closer to nine hours for Kon’s body to start healing itself with the help of the sunlamps. It got much worse before it got better, and Clark was going to be insisting on further research to be done to combat Kryptonite poisoning going forward. 

Kon’s blood-shot eye was the first indicator things were taking a turn for the better, and both returned to their normal grey. Kon’s heart rate finally slowed and his breathing evened out. The green veining around his face and neck faded and he finally passed out from the exhaustion, sweaty and miserable, but he looked much more like himself.

Clark finally let go of his son’s hands and stepped out of the room. He went back to his dorm, and sat under the showerhead until the WatchTower automatically cut off the water.

Kon slept for the majority of the next day, waking briefly to walk around a little and talk to Jon and Lois. They had gone back to school and work, respectively, at Clark’s insistence that their routines not change too much. It would keep Jon regulated and Lois from losing her mind, sitting around, idle with worry. Jon had left a card at Kon’s beside, illustrated with colored pencil drawings of their family.

Konathan, 

I love you forever. Please get better soon.

Love, Jonner

By the next day, Kon was awake and alert, smiling easily and cracking jokes with his team. His mouth had healed and his cheek looked as through he’d only had a batch of bad teen acne mar his skin instead of a bullet.

He was up and walking, taking his metal frame with him wherever he went, going as far as his security clearance would allow him before turning around, pushing the frame with his TTK like a scooter. Movement returned to his right arm as the swelling in his neck and shoulder went down. He greeted everyone with a handshake, loudly asking every nurse, doctor, and family member to “Put ‘er there!”, and generally being a ham.

Oracle came to visit with Orphan at her side. Barbara spoke to Kon for the better part of an hour while Cass held his hand. He listened intently, asking questions here and there and seemed much more at ease when they left. The near frantic up and down, just relieved to be upright, had settled into something more calm, more sure. Barbara told Kon he could call her any time and Clark thanked her profusely, as he seemed to be doing with all of his friends lately.

Kon’s jacket was finally removed from the garment bag. And even though he was still in his hospital gown, Kon insisted someone drape the jacket over his shoulders. Clark realized it had been the one thing missing. It was proof the worst was behind them. 

The day after, Kon started to get restless, and Clark watched him moan and groan out of annoyance, rather than pain, at his stack of homework that he skimmed through, completed most of, then put to the side. Clark made a few calls, and after three in the afternoon, Metropolis time, Tim Drake walked through Kon’s room door.

Clark gave them a few minutes alone together, but could hear Tim’s voice waver with emotion while Kon comforted him, telling him he was going to be alright. Tim crawled into the bed with him and refused to let go of his hand, even when Bart Allen, and Cassie Sandsmark arrived two hours later with stuffed animals, bouquets in vases, and a DVD in a gift bag.

It was like Kon had finally seen the sun after a polar winter. If he was a ham before, it was nothing compared to the show he put on when his friends were around. Everyone started rubbing Kon’s bald head ‘for luck’ and tucked teddy bears and flowers between every available space on his bedside table. Bart started sticking googly eyes to Kon’s halo and called him a biblically accurate angel. The four of them piled onto the hospital bed and cot to watch a movie, Tim holding Kon’s hand and periodically kissing the back of his knuckles – looking at him with such fondness it made even Clark’s heart skip a beat.

The movie ended up being Mean Girls, and the jokes about Kon getting hit by a bus began immediately. By the time the credits rolled, he had been crowned the queen of the Spring Fling and Bart and Cassie wove flowers around the loop connecting Kon’s halo to the weight line.

Cassie and Bart left shortly after, but Tim stuck around, leaning on Kon’s arm and painting his fingernails with black holographic nail polish. A different kind of calm settled over Kon after Tim left, a content and satisfied exhaustion heavy in his limbs and face. Clark pulled up the cot he’d slept on for the last week and Kon showed off his new manicure. “Thanks for calling them. I think I needed that,” Kon said.

“Of course, pal. I know it can really stink to not be able to see your friends.” Clark took Kon’s outstretched hand, their little nightly ritual before they both fell asleep.

“One of the first things that’s felt normal. I felt like a real boy,” Kon sighed, using a higher pitch when he said ‘real boy’. Clark wasn’t sure who this inside joke was shared with, but Kon used it a fair bit, so maybe it was just for himself.

“Well Pinnochio, you’ve got another full day tomorrow. Need anything before you go to sleep?” Clark folded the blankets under Kon’s arms so he was tucked in.

Kon gasped dramatically with a grin on his face. “Can you turn on the box to old reruns of something? Black and white preferably?”

Clark chuckled. Ma and Pa always called the television ‘the box’. “Sure thing, pal.”

“I’ll be able to hear if it’s in color,” Kon warned as Clark acquired the remote control and turned on the mounted television in the corner of the room.

“Must be a human-kryptonian trait,” Clark muttered and muted the television while he channel surfed. “Not seeing much black and white, save for I Love Lucy, but Gilligan’s Island and Quantum Leap are on.”

Kon’s eyebrows furrowed. “The original or reboot?”

“Original, of course,” Clark scoffed, “‘You think this is my first rodeo?”

“Yee-haw,” Kon yawned.

“Quantum Leap it is.”

Once every drop of Kryptonite had been flushed from Kon’s system, and the bullet wasn’t at risk of moving, he was given the all-clear to go home in his halo. He was fitted with a sheepskin-lined brace and his halo was mounted to the rigid plastic. Thankfully, his ribs had healed nicely, and the only evidence that Kon had been injured at all was the starburst scar on his cheek, and the halo itself, of course.

Clark helped Kon get dressed and shrug on his jacket.

“Hell yeah, I’m free-range baby!” Kon exclaimed, turning freely without his walking frame.

“Let’s fly the coop, Rooster,” Clark laughed, patting his shoulder before holding the door open.

“Damn, if only I could lift my chin to crow right now, it would be so over for y’all,” Kon wrinkled his nose.

“I bet. Let’s get the hell outta here,” Clark inclined his head towards the corridor.

“Ooh, big man on campus using ‘hell’.” Kon waggled his eyebrows, stood in the doorway, then turned back to the room, already cleared of his flowers and stuffed animals, save for the fuzzy white dog tucked under his arm. “Goodbye, MedBay room. It’s been real. It’s been fun. But I can’t say it’s been real fun. Peace!” He promptly turned on his heel and marched down the hall, where his team was waiting for him.

They were greeted with a string of “Put ‘er there”s that Kon heartily laughed at while shaking everyone’s hands and thanking each of them.

“Is it weird I’m gonna miss you, kid?” Blake asked.

“Nah, I’m a sweet fucking treat, Blake. Everyone hates to see me go but loves to watch me leave,” Kon said with a wink.

Being shot certainly hadn’t damaged his sense of humor.

“Changed my mind. Can’t wait for you to leave,” Blake laughed with a final handshake.

“That’s what they all say, pal,” Kon replied and continued down the line to Dr. Bandal, Clark following behind with less amusing handshakes of profound gratitude. 

“Take your physical therapy seriously and I’ll see you in two weeks,” Dr. Bandal reminded.

“As the grave, Doc. Looking forward to it,” Kon said.

“I can’t thank you enough, Dr. Bandal. For everything,” Clark said as Kon stepped away to head towards the Zeta.

“Despite the circumstances, it’s been a pleasure. See you in two weeks,” Dr. Bandal said before Clark could get sentimental.

“Old man! Ride’s waiting!” Kon called from the double doors.

“Are you sure you can’t keep him?” Clark asked Dr. Bandal under his breath.

“I got shot in the nose, not the ear! I can still hear you!” Kon squawked.

Clark chuckled and followed after him, rubbing his growing buzzcut for luck.

“Dad? What the fuck is this?” Kon asked as he plodded into the kitchen with a box in his hands.

“Language,” Clark warned without looking up from his draft. “What is what?”

After two months, Kon’s halo had been removed, his hair was starting to get long enough to curl, and since the bullet hadn’t seemed to have any adverse effects by remaining in his body, safe for some lingering stiffness in his right arm, Dr. Bandal gave them the option to leave it be. Clark hadn’t been too keen on the idea, but Kon had reminded him how much it sucked to deal with Kryptonite poisoning the first time, said that it was kinda cool he had a bullet in his neck, and it wasn’t like he was going through airport security anytime soon. So they left it. 

Kon had been building his strength again, going to twice-weekly physical therapy and taking it just as seriously as the rest of his training with Young Justice. His TTK was surprisingly the slowest skill to recover and he was still honing his precision with small objects. Clark ran him through plenty of flight training to make sure he was back up to snuff, and he seemed happy as could be, soaking wet after flying through clouds and laughing while making squeaky windshield wiper noises as he cleaned his sunglasses. He had been cleared to return to the field about a week ago and was loving every second of it, though wasn’t loving going back to school in person, more annoyed he missed Homecoming than anything else. Ma had some help from him this year making and the Thanksgiving side dishes, despite his favorite thing to eat being canned cranberry sauce and Pa’s turkey.

By nearly all accounts, he was back to normal, evident by the way he held his stiff right arm aloft with a card pinched between his fingers. 

“You and Mom actually made this the freaking Christmas card?” Kon pushed the card in between Clark’s gaze and his computer screen.

A smile pulled at Clark’s mouth. “Oh, it turned out great!” He took the card from Kon’s hand.

The photo on the front was Kon in his halo, Jon wearing a Halloween costume angel halo, and Krypto in a dog cone, sitting on the couch at the farm with enormous smiles, with little trumpeting angels illustrated around the border of pine boughs and red ornaments. “Happy Holidays From Our Family to Yours!”

“I thought we took that picture as a bit!” Kon said, grimacing at another card he’d pulled from the printer’s box.

“All our little angels…” Clark pouted his lip.

Kon made a loud noise of protest and disgust. “Oh my god, this is worse than Kryptonite poisoning – you can’t send this to the Waynes, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Do you really hate it?” Clark asked.

Kon shifted on his feet, his wrinkled nose looking between Clark and the card and groaned, a war raging inside of him. “It’s kinda funny – but I’m bald!”

“You were not bald,” Clark said. “And it was this or your mother dragging you both to the farm to take pictures of you two in matching polo shirts and khakis.”

Kon tucked the card back in the box with an air of finality and the driest tone he could manage, “I love them. They’re hilarious and I’ve never loved anything more.”

“That’s what I thought,” Clark said, handing him the card sitting on his keyboard.

Kon left it on top of the box and dropped it on the kitchen island like the contents were going to give him a disease, heading back to his bedroom without another word.

Passing by on his way from the bathroom, Jon spotted the cards on the kitchen island and took a step back before bursting into a fit of laughter. “This is awesome!” he laughed and grabbed the card on the top, heading for the boys’ rooms. “Kon, look at our Christmas card!”

Clark bit down on his knuckles to keep from laughing as Kon shouted in adolescent defeat from his bedroom.

The worst of the Metropolis winter was behind them, and daffodils were starting to poke up through last year’s mulch and sparse tufts of green grass. With the sun out and a strong breeze pushing through the city, it was one of those Fridays when the world came back to life and everyone was out walking with their kids, playing fetch in the Centennial Park with their dogs, and finding any two trees to hang a hammock between. 

Clark had opted to walk home from work, enjoying the last full light of day before sunset, and he liked seeing the puppies, who were finally allowed to socialize after a long winter, yap from picnic blankets and begrudgingly, if at all, obey commands to sit, stay, and come.

Lois was chasing a lead in Star City. Jon had been picked up by a classmate’s parent for a sleepover after one of his club activities, and Kon flew off for a mission with Young Justice right after school and was probably somewhere near Gateway City about now.

He had the apartment to himself before WatchTower monitoring duty with Hal later that evening, and with no pressing deadlines, he heated some leftovers in the oven and pulled a book he’d been neglecting from the shelf. He flopped onto the couch with the curtains open, bathing their living room in the orange and pink light of the sky that accompanied the sunset. 

Out of habit, more than anything, while sitting for a quiet moment, Clark absently searched for his family’s hearts out and about in the world. Lois was climbing the stairs somewhere, Jon was excitedly playing some sort of game, and Kon –

His comm buzzed on the coffee table.

Clark felt ice in his stomach. It wrapped around the base of his spine and traveled up his back in a shiver. 

RED ROBIN - Y02

Clark received the call and pressed the comm to his ear in one movement.

“Robin?” He listened for anything through the comm, anything that could give him an idea of what was going on. “Where are you?”

Tim’s breath was shaky on the other end as he spoke. “The roof of the water treatment facility just outside Gateway City –”

Clark moved without thinking. He wasn’t sure how he managed to get the cape on and arrive in California on autopilot, but he touched down on the PVC roof of the plant to see Impulse holding Kon’s head in his lap and talking to him softly. “Superman will be here soon, just hold on.”

On the roof, there were several small clusters of unconscious masked men tied together around HVAC units. Wonder Girl was nowhere to be seen, but was probably the source of the ruckus a few floors below.

“What happened?” Clark knelt, his knees blessedly keeping him upright. 

Kon’s eyes locked on to him, pupils dilated in fear. His chest was neither rising, nor falling, but his heart was hammering like a jackrabbit. His mouth worked like he was trying to speak, but no air came out to give him voice.

“He collapsed,” Tim said. “He threw a right hook, had his arm knocked back with a pipe and just… dropped.”

“Can’t move anything but his face,” Impulse added, his mouth creased miserably.

“Red Robin, call for backup and go help Wonder Girl. I’ll get him to the WatchTower,” Clark said without looking at the teenager fumbling to shove his comm back into his utility belt.

“But –”

“Now, Robin,” Clark barked, much harsher than any tone he had ever taken with the boy before.

Red Robin startled, looked at Kon one more time in a moment of hesitation, took a staggering step back with a shuddering breath, then sprinted off toward the roof entrance.

Clark gave Kon a quick scan from top to bottom, visually, then a layer deeper. The bullet had shifted, and was now wedged vertically between his vertebrae and pinching his nerves like a brass and lead vice.

“Blink once if you can hear me, Kon-El,” Clark asked, holding either side of his face in his hands.

Kon blinked.

“Good job, sport. Once for yes, twice for no, does anything hurt?”

Two blinks.

“Can you feel my hands?” Clark pressed on Kon’s chest lightly.

Two blinks.

Again, on his arms.

Two blinks. Tears leaked down his temples, trailing into his ears.

One last time on his legs.

Two blinks.

“Okay, I’m going to lift you now so I can get you to the WatchTower.” Clark braced the back of Kon’s neck with his hand, crossed Kon’s arms over each other, and pulled up Kon’s knees so his feet were flat on the roof and Clark could get his other hand under his seat. “We’re gonna take this nice and slow. Slow is steady. Steady is smooth. Smooth is fast.”

One blink. That was Kon’s usual mantra when he needed to focus on form, and not on going as fast as possible. Patience, poise, precision.

“Attaboy,” Clark said with a small, forced smile, and lifted. Kon was dead weight, his legs hanging limp over Clark’s elbow. “Just keep your eyes on me, I’m gonna get you there.”

This time, standing outside the operating room felt different. It felt worse. Clark was pacing, knowing the procedure underway down the hall was more complicated than making sure Kon didn’t bleed out. This was delicate work – one wrong move and Kon would be paralyzed, or dead. 

He should have pushed, he should have listened to his gut and had them take the bullet out once Kon was feeling better. He should have held off on clearing Kon for the field, no matter how much Kon would have hated him for it.  He didn’t blame anyone but himself and there was nothing for him to do this time. There was no blood to donate, no more phone calls to make, just the buzzing of the overhead lights and agonizing waiting.

The buzzing of the overhead lights turned to that terrifying static again, spreading from his head, down his neck and into his chest, soaking into every fiber of his being like a drop of ink in clear water until it was wholly a part of him.

He remembered standing as Dr. Bandal entered the hallway through the double doors, pulling her scrub cap off.

He heard the words, “incomplete quadriplegia” and “ventilation-assisted breathing” and the static crawled into the corners of his vision before everything went dark and he felt his head hit the floor.

It may have been an hour or only a few minutes, but when Clark’s eyes opened again, he was alert. An oxygen mask was covering the lower half of his face and as he reached for it, he spotted the oximeter on his finger. It was a useless device on him that only gave inaccurate readings and filled him with a grating, irritated itch – which was actually a nice break from the all-consuming static. He pulled off the mask and whipped the oximeter onto the white woven hospital blanket.

A hand pressed against Clark’s chest. “Hey.” Bruce’s gloved fingers were forceful, but they both knew it was more a gesture than something that could actually stop Clark from doing anything. “You passed out.” His cowl was pulled back, but the rest of him was covered with armor and the cape,

“I don’t pass out,” Clark snapped, pushing Bruce’s arm away. He had never fainted or passed out or swooned or whatever Bruce thought had happened to him without being drugged or exposed to Kryptonite. He didn’t just pass out over bad news. If that were the case, he would pass out all the time. So what if this time it was upon learning his son –

Kon.

Kon was paralyzed.

Bruce seemed to watch the realization dawn on Clark’s face, and his arm returned, but this time as an embrace. It was enough to get him to completely fall apart. Clark had his bouts of quiet tears over the last few months, but never had that big bawl Ma said he deserved if he wanted. Even though he didn’t want it now, it came anyway. A sob choked out of him. He pulled away, covering his mouth with his hand, his face splitting into a grimace of dread and guilt as his breath came out in staccato bursts through his teeth. Streaming tears and chest-rattling sobs and howls of sorrow for his son, for his failure to protect him, for the pain and terror Kon had gone through and would go through again because of his mistakes, because of that bullet. 

It was times like these, Clark saw the Batman that Gotham’s small children and victims of violence saw, that he was a dark guardian, immovable and warm underneath the kevlar and cowl, a protector, a friend. It was a position Clark didn’t find himself in often, and strangely, it had been the other way around more than once, with him begging Bruce to just let everything go and just trust Clark could hold him together. After Jason, after Stephanie, after the worst of the worst, and here Bruce was repaying the favor until Lois appeared, taking over for Bruce, who stepped into the shadows and disappeared while Clark got light-headed – shallow breathing and spasming lungs, while air tried to find purchase in his chest.

“He’s going to be okay, baby,” Lois said, holding the back of his head like it was going to keep him from collapsing into a million loose pieces. “He’s going to be okay.”

Speaking was beyond him, but even if he could piece words together, what was there to be said? He failed, and Kon would live the rest of his life how he began it, hooked up to machines and being reliant on others to get around. No TTK, no flying, to breathing on his own. Other people with traumatic spinal injuries lived full lives. Barbara Gordon was everything Batgirl was and more as Oracle. But Barbara hadn’t been grown in a lab, hadn’t been experimented on, hadn’t known what it felt like to fly into endless sky to drink in pure sunlight, hadn’t known what it was like to be Kryptonian on Earth and everything that implied.

“Do you want to see him?” Lois asked once the worst of his sobbing had subsided. 

Clark nodded and wiped his eyes with his cape, splashing cold water on his face and trying to pull himself together. He wouldn’t fail Kon again by scaring him.

Exiting M-38, they walked down to M-8, hand-in-hand, because if Lois let go, Clark was going to run for the next exit and keep flying until he hit Neptune. It was like walking into a room of a house Clark had forgotten he had ever lived in, but it was all the same. The same speckled white tiles and clean walls, no teddy bears or flowers to brighten the room this time. Even the sunlamps cranked to near full strength seemed just as much a part of the grey chair or hospital bed.

Kon’s neck was packed with gauze, but Clark stumbled just inside the doorway at Kon’s face. No ventilator, he wasn’t even intubated. But he was breathing. His chest was rising and falling in slow, full breaths.

Clark’s hand covered his mouth as he made a sound of delighted disbelief. “Dr. Bandal said he was –”

“She said that the procedure was successful and Kon was safe from complete or incomplete paralysis and wouldn’t need a ventilator,” Lois explained, then added, “She also realized you looked pale and your eyes weren’t focused while she spoke to you.”

“So I passed out over nothing?” Clark asked, not taking his eyes off of Kon.

“You were under unimaginable stress, Clark. That’s not nothing,” Lois squeezed his arm. 

She was right. Lois was always right, even if he felt silly for fainting over a misunderstanding. None of that really mattered as long as Kon would be alright. Clark nodded, sparing her a glance, her expression fierce.

“Our boy’s gonna be alright,” Clark said, just because it felt good to say.

“Now with one hundred percent less lead.” Lois nudged him forward.

“Hey sweetheart,” Clark said softly, taking Kon’s hand.

Kon grumbled and opened his eyes, like he was grumpy about being woken up for school.

Clark couldn’t help but laugh as Kon’s hand pulled away from his and dropped onto his chest, eyes shut again.

Blissfully sleeping through charts, scans, and vital checks, Kon finally stirred with another groan around four in the morning, Metropolis time.

Clark had taken up residence on his cot again, pulled up to Kon’s bedside. He looked over his son’s form as he twisted and his eyes opened, his hand immediately going to his head, running his fingers through his hair. He huffed out a sigh of relief and sank deeper into his pillow.

“All there?” Clark asked.

“Yeah,” Kon said hoarsely.

“They got the bullet out,” Clark said softly.

“About time. Freakin’ freeloader,” Kon groused and pulled his arm over his eyes.

Clark stood and dimmed the lights a little, settling on the edge of the bed. Kon grabbed the hem of his cape and pulled it up to his chin like a blanket. “This thing is sweet. Ma should make quilts outta this.”

Clark chuckled and unclipped the cape from his shoulders, draping it over Kon so their house emblem was smooth over his chest and tucked the edges under his legs.

“Super blankey.” Kon smirked and ran his fingers over the material.

Clark smoothed back Kon’s hair, gently skimming his thumb over his temple. “No more disasters for another calendar year, okay? At least wait until you’re an adult before collecting more battle scars, ‘kay bud?”

“Wouldn’t want our insurance to go up, would we?” Kon’s eyes opened just to roll.

Smart aleck. “You can get a summer job to pay Batman the co-insurance for your surgery.”

“Booo,” Kon jeered with a weak clenching of his fist. “I gotta job. I save the world and shit.”

Clark chuckled again. He was going to be just fine. “Yeah, you do.”

Blake knocked on the door and entered. 

“Frosted Blake!” Kon started, head lolling to look at him better. “You missed me, admit it.”

“You got me there, kid,” Blake admitted and scanned into the computer in the room to note something in Kon’s chart. “How we feeling? Any pain?”

“Pft.” Kon blew out his lips in a raspberry, “Pain feels me, Blakey,”

“I bet. Nothing around the incision site or anywhere else?”

“I feel great. Unhook me from this IV and I’ll do the worm for you,” Kon said, wiggling his arm.

“I’m gonna pass on that one tonight.” Blake referred to the computer. “Looks like the Kryptonite used in the surgical tools has cleared your system. We keep these lamps going, you should be good to go home tomorrow afternoon or evening.”

“But Blake, we’ve only just reunited.” Kon dramatically reached for Blake. 

“You treat this place like a revolving door. I’ll see you soon enough,” Blake laughed.

Kon’s chest jerked with a silent laugh. “Dad said I’m not allowed to put myself through a woodchipper again until I’m eighteen,” Kon replied with a pout.

Blake nodded. “Smart man. You’d be even smarter to listen to him.”

“That’s what everyone says,” Kon sighed in defeat. Clark patted the cape over his arm.

“I’ll be by again to check in on you in a few hours,” Blake said and stepped out.

“You’re just best friends with everyone, aren’t you?” Clark said fondly.

“Doesn’t hurt he’s really cute. Don’t tell Tim,” Kon lifted a wobbly finger to his lips.

Clark laughed again. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Sick.” Kon’s eyes fluttered half-shut. A moment later, he hummed pleasantly. “I heard you, you know,” he mumbled.

“Heard me when?” Clark asked.

“I forgave you a long time ago, Dad,” Kon yawned.

Clark’s stomach flipped and he grinned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kon sighed, nodding off in earnest. “I won the jackpot… winner winner, chicken dinner… because you picked me to be your son. How lucky am I?”

“Not as lucky as me.” Clark quickly wiped his face, even though Kon’s eyes weren’t open to see him. He squeezed Kon’s hand. “We picked each other, sweetheart. And I’m gonna keep picking you over and over again for the rest of our lives.”

“Me too, Dad. I love you,” Kon hummed.

“I love you,” Clark echoed.

“I love you,” Kon said again, either as a mindless near-sleep repetition, or to finish off the triplet their family used when they meant it. The beat of a Kryptonian heart. 

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.