A/N: The last four chapters, collectively entitled PERSPECTIVES, present four different stories from the points-of-view of four different people. Set eight years after the events of "A Father, First," these chapters show how the lives of so many have changed since Richard saw Kal-El looking at Jason from outside the window.

These chapters serve as the conclusion to the long and winding journey "A Father, First" has taken.

PERSPECTIVES: Jason Jonathan Lane-Kent, age 14

"Hey, isn't that your dad?" Maddie Staunton pointed to the man standing outside the classroom.

I turned my head to the small, square pane on the door, and there he was—black hair, thick glasses and all. Oh shoot, Dad was in school. My school.

"Alright, class," Mrs. Fulton began, her voice like an owl's screech, "as we continue our Career Week, I've invited Mr. Clark Kent to talk to us today about his work in the field of journalism."

Mrs. Fulton had pretty much lost the class' interest at the name "Mr. Clark Kent." I could pretty much hear everyone—even without using the super-hearing that I inherited from my dad—whispering to each other, "That's Jason's dad." "Seriously?" "Look at those ancient glasses." "He looks kinda dorky…in a cute way." "Lizzie, he's like, as old as your dad! You can't have a crush on him!"

Oh, God. Kill me now.

My teacher opened the door for Dad and motioned for him to enter. He had only taken a few steps when he accidentally tripped—on his own foot. My whole ninth-grade class roared in laughter. Why, oh why did he have to do that?

Dad managed to get his balance back before he fell face first on the floor. Adjusting his glasses, he straightened his overcoat and fixed his tie. Then he gave everyone that farmboy grin he usually reserved for the people in the office. I heard a few girls behind me giggling. I sank low in my chair, and propped up a book in front of me, hoping it would cover my face.

"Hi, Jason," my dad greeted me.

I felt my cheeks go warm as all eyes turned to me. All of my friends—Peter, Matt, Brandon and Will—looked at me teasingly, as if saying, "So not cool, man." I forced a smile at Dad. "Hey…Dad."

It was bad enough to know that I'd get a load of mockery from my friends during recess, but when I let my eyes wander away from my dad, I found Lacey staring at me. Lacey Laughlin—the girl I was planning to ask out to the coming winter dance. Oh well, all my plans have gone down the drain—thanks to dear ol' Dad.

As soon as the class quieted down and everyone had turned their attention to my father, he began to talk about his job. "My name is Clark Kent, and I'm an assistant editor for the Daily Planet's City section. I've been a journalist for the Planet for almost two decades now, and let me tell you, being a journalist is hard work. As I've learned from experience, being a journalist requires more than just skill in writing. You need good instincts and an eye for the unusual—"

"You need a good pen, too," Kyle Rowan, one of the more ill-behaved students in class, quipped. The whole class erupted with laughter. I could've strangled Kyle then and there—but instead, I kept my mouth shut and hid my face behind a book.

Dad just grinned at him. "Yeah, that, too," he said, and then he went on to talk about how he began his career—writing for his high school paper, going to the big city to study at Met U, applying for newspaper agencies and being turned down a couple of times, and finally, working for the Planet.

As he mentioned his roots in Smallville, I began to think back to the last time we had gone there. It had been last summer, and Grandma Martha passed away. It was a very trying time for Dad, and for me and Davey as well. We all loved Grandma, and a lot of people loved her, too. Poppa Ben didn't stop crying during the funeral. Most of the townsfolk came and shared memories about Grandma. Uncle Richard, Aunt Lily and their kids cut their holiday in the Caribbean short to fly to Smallville and pay their respects to Grandma. There was even a big lunch set in the farm, fit to feed a whole army. But nothing could cheer up Dad.

During our stay there, I usually woke up in the middle of the night and I'd see Dad going off into the dark, far from the farm. I'd sit up in bed and wait for him to come back, but I usually fell asleep before I'd see him return. Sometimes I'd see Mom accompanying him, and hand in hand, they'd walk away into the darkness.

My mother always said I took after her—curious, inquisitive, always wanting to be in the thick of things. Which is why, I guess, I had decided to follow Dad one night. As soon as I was sure Davey had fallen asleep in the other bed, I zipped up my blue coat and tiptoed downstairs. I knew any slight sound would be heard by Dad, what with his super-hearing, so I had to be extra quiet. Out of the house I went, making sure I was far enough from Dad, but not too far to lose sight of him. I went through a lot of twists and turns, and once, I stepped on muddy ground and nearly lost my footing. My curiosity began to wane as we went farther and farther away from the house. My feet were getting cold, and my legs were too tired to take another step. After what seemed like forever, Dad stopped walking.

I looked around. Dad was standing in a clearing in the middle of a cornfield. I hid behind some cornstalks and watched.

At first, nothing happened. Dad just simply stood—his head bowed and his back hunched. And then he fell to his knees. I saw him grab a handful of soil and clasp it tight. His hand was shaking. He opened his hand and let the dirt fall back to the ground.

"Jason," he said. "I know you're there."

His voice did not hold a tone of anger. He was calm. He didn't turn around as I approached him.

"Hey kiddo," Dad greeted me. He smiled weakly.

I bowed my head, too ashamed to apologize to my dad for following him to this place. "You haven't called me that in a long time," I mumbled.

"Yeah, well, I'd like to call you that as often as I could—if that's alright with you."

"You're my dad, you can call me anything," I answered.

My reply made my father smile. I felt better knowing I made him happy. I looked at the ground he was kneeling in front of—there was a big, uneven hole. Like a crater.

"This is where Ma and Pa found me," Dad explained to me in a soft voice. "I was very little, then. Pa wasn't sure about keeping me at first, but Ma begged him to. They don't have kids, see? And Grandma Martha wanted to have even just one baby."

"You were Grandma Martha's baby," I told him.

Dad didn't turn his eyes away from the crater. "I was…Grandma Martha's baby."

Then Dad began to cry. It wasn't like the quiet cry of Poppa Ben during the night, when he thought all of us were sleeping. No, Dad was really crying. Loudly. I didn't know what to do, but I had seen what Mom did for Dad when he first heard about Grandma—I ran into Dad's arms and hugged him tight. He hugged me back, and I could feel the sleeve of my jacket getting damp with Dad's tears.

My father—Earth's Great Protector. My father—who was faster and stronger than any human. My father—the Man of Steel. But tonight, as we sat before the place where he was found by Grandma Martha and Grandpa Jonathan, he was simply…my father. And he was hurting.

"Don't worry, Daddy," I said. I hadn't called him 'Daddy' since I was like, seven. "I won't tell."

"Your mom knows where I go. It's okay," he replied.

I scratched my head, my long brown hair flopping down on my face again. I brushed it up. Dad didn't get what I said. "I mean I won't tell that you cry here at night. It'll be our secret."

My dad sniffed and wiped away the tears that streamed down his cheeks. He stood and picked me up, helping me back to my feet. "Thanks, buddy. It'll be our secret."

It was the only time I had ever seen my father cry, and I had never told a soul about that night.

"Jason?"

My thoughts were broken by the sound of Mrs. Fulton's voice. "Do you have anything to say about your dad's job? Do you want to be like your dad when you grow up?"

All eyes had turned to me again—they were eager to hear what I had to say, knowing they could probably tease me with it. I could count how many of my classmates had blue, green, grey or brown eyes. But it was my dad's eyes that I focused on.

He raised his eyebrows at me.

I looked sideways. I was about to answer when—

RRRRIIIINNNGG!

Saved by the bell.

I waited until most of my classmates had left the classroom. I could hear words like "Jason" and "Mr. Kent" being thrown into their silent discussions. Being taller than most of the class (something I can actually thank my dad's good genes for), I looked above the sea of faces and found my dad still standing by the doorway.

"Hey, Jasey, your Daddy's waiting for you!" Kyle cooed, making a few other boys laugh.

I groaned and sighed. Dad simply kept smiling. A few kids were nice enough to say, "Bye, Mr. Kent." Most just passed him by. Just like in the office.

We made our way to the parking lot. I hadn't said a word to my father since we began walking. It was Dad who first spoke. "Sorry I didn't get to tell you sooner—your teacher just called up your mom last night," he apologized.

"You could've told me this the morning," I mumbled. "Now everyone's going to make fun of me."

"For what? For being the son of a journalist? Peter's mom works in the Planet as well."

"Two journalists," I corrected him. "And Peter's mom is a photographer for the Planet, not a journalist." I huffed. "Besides, that's not the point, Dad. I mean, the guys are gonna call me 'Daddy's Boy' now or something."

"Well," Dad quipped. "Aren't you?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "Ugh, you're not helping."

We got to the car. I opened the backseat and tossed my backpack inside. I kept on muttering complaints against my dad going to my school and talking to my class. "…And now Lacey's probably never going out with me," I muttered under my breath. "She's gonna think I'm such a loser—"

"Whoa, what?" My dad stopped in his tracks. He was about to open the door to the driver's seat. He looked at me curiously. "What was that?"

"What was what?" I said defensively.

"You were saying something about Lacey. Lacey Laughlin? Tall, brunette, with brown eyes? Is that why you're so angry with me?"

I shook my head. Apparently, I also got my mother's big mouth. "You know what, Dad? Let's just go home."

I was about to get inside the car when I heard someone calling me.

"Jason! Hey Jason!"

I turned and froze. Lacey was running in my direction. By instinct, I brushed my hair back, making a mental note to get a haircut soon. I heard Dad snort as he watched me fix myself.

"H-hi, La-Lacey," I stammered. My heart was practically beating out of my rib cage. I swallowed hard.

Lacey was smiling at me. I watched her tuck her hair behind her ear. She looked even prettier this close. "Hi, Mr. Kent," she greeted my dad.

Dad simply grinned at her. Someone called Lacey's name and she turned. Her friends were waiting for her at the entrance of the school. While her back was turned, my dad gave me a thumbs-up sign. I gave him an exasperated look and made him lower his hand.

Lacey turned back to us. "I just wanted to say that I thought you had a really great talk, Mr. Kent."

Dad pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Well, thank you, Lacey. I'm glad you enjoyed it."

Lacey nodded. "I love to write, and now I'm even more inspired to be a journalist."

"I think you'll be a great one," Dad said, making Lacey smile.

O-kay, my dad and Lacey are the ones doing the talking. What am I—a lamp post?

"Lacey, c'mon!" her friends hollered.

"I have to go," she said with a shrug. Then she turned to me—finally. "You're Dad's really cool, Jason. See you on Monday."

She had begun walking away when I felt my dad give me a push. "Go," he murmured. "Ask her."

But I stood on my spot, unable to move. Dad pushed me harder. "Go on!" he hissed.

"No!" I hissed back.

"Go!"

"No!"

"This is your chance—"

"I won't—"

"Lacey!" my dad called out to her.

My eyes widened at Dad. Before I could say anything to him, Lacey had walked back to us.

"Yeah?" she asked, looking at us expectantly.

Dad began to walk to the driver's side of the car.

"I-I…I…" I began. But I was looking at Lacey and my mind was a jumble.

Lacey giggled. "Did you need help with anything, Jason?"

"I…" I took a deep breath. "I was wondering…if-if you'd, uh, you'd like t-to go…to the, um, to the dance…er, with me?"

Lacey smiled—it was the most beautiful smile I'd ever seen. "Sure, Jason. I'd love to," she replied. "Pick me up at 7?"

I nodded—vigorously.

"I'll see you, then."

"Yeah," I answered. "See you."

She began to run back to her friends. I used my super-hearing to listen in on a bit of conversation—although Dad always said I should learn to "use those powers wisely."I had to smile as I heard Lacey telling her friends excitedly, "Guess who asked me out to the dance?" and her friends all sighing, "Oh, Lacey, you're like, the first girl in class to get a date! Now I'm jealous."

I couldn't wipe the grin off my face as I got in the car.

"You are such a Daddy's Boy," my dad said, laughing. "Wait 'til I tell your mom you had to have me to ask a girl out."

Leave it to Dad to ruin the moment.

"Whatever, Dad," I told him, but I quickly turned away because I didn't want him to see me grinning from ear to ear again. Lacey Laughlin and I are going to the dance together.

Before I knew it, we were in the driveway and Dad had parked the car. "Thanks, Dad," I said.

"For what?" he asked.

I shrugged. "For…everything, I guess."

Dad tousled my hair. "Anything for you, bud. You know you can count on me anytime."

We made our way into the house, where Davey was busy dipping his fingers in tubs of paint in the living room while Mom was preparing dinner. "Hey, sport," Dad greeted Davey, kissing the top of his head. Davey jumped up and hugged Dad, his hands making blue, green, yellow and red streaks on Dad's pale blue shirt. Dad didn't seem to care one bit, complimenting what I could only describe as Davey's…er, abstract masterpiece (Later, he explained, "It's Disneyland."—I still couldn't see how the crooked lines could be Mickey Mouse.).

As Dad sat on the floor and listened to Davey's explanation of his artwork, I went to the kitchen to help Mom. "Hi, Mom," I greeted her.

She gave me a kiss on the forehead and hugged me. "Hey, Jase," she said cheerfully. "How was school?"

"School was okay."

Then she eyed me curiously. "Did your father embarrass you in front of your class?"

I laughed and shook my head. "Nah, he was good."

"Did you participate during your dad's talk?"

I shrugged. "Mrs. Fulton asked me if I wanted to be like Dad when I grew up."

"And what did you say?"

I looked at Dad and Davey, playing on the floor. I remembered all the times Dad would have to go away to save someone—in the middle of my piano recital, during Davey's Little League game, halfway during my soccer match. I remembered one evening when it was just Dad and me at home, and he told me how much he wished he could always be there for me and Davey. I realized just how much he had sacrificed—some for the world, many for his family. I thought about how Dad often told Mom how much he loved her, and the smile that would appear in Mom's face afterwards. I thought about Dad, and how he balanced family, work, and Superman.

"I didn't get to answer because the bell rang," I answered. Then I added, "But if I had time, I would've told Mrs. Fulton yes—I want to be just like Dad when I grow up."