Clark was cold.
A common misconception amongst most people was that him and his kind weren't affected by such trivial things as the temperature when flying through space. Because surely, a being capable of traveling to and actually staying inside of the sun itself for an extended period of time should be capable of withstanding the coldness of space, right? Logically, Clark shouldn't even be able to feel a difference between being here and being on Earth.
Except that wasn't exactly how Kryptonians like himself worked. Yes, he could plunge his hands through molten metal without getting any burns at all, and he could stand shirtless all night in Antarctica without getting hypothermia, but it wasn't like he couldn't feel warm and cold. A day out in Metropolis during the winter season would be enough to make him shiver, if he for some reason decided not to wear the season-appropriate clothes. His Kryptonian durability kept him from being physically hurt by such things, but it didn't stop him from feeling slight discomforts like this. Which he was fine with, honestly. After all, what good would these powers be if he'd have to get depowered by Kryptonite to feel anything that wasn't at the same power level as a building-destroying punch from Mongul?
So yes, soaring across this inky black void like this, careful not to exhale and let loose any of the air he was holding in his lungs as he approached the official Justice League spaceship, The Javelin, parked a few thousand miles away from any predicted meteor showers or asteroid fields, wasn't exactly like a trip to the Bahamas, as his Pa would say. Especially when he was this far away from the source of his powers, the radiation of Earth's yellow sun.
The effects of its absence could definitely be felt. Space Travel without a specially designed suit would never be a pleasant experience for him, but it was even more uncomfortable now that he hadn't been replenished in the power department for a few days. He thought he had enough stored up in his system to last him at least another week as long as he didn't overexert himself by doing stupid things like flying around a planet so fast that time reversed. Which he was pretty sure wasn't even possible anyway, despite what Barry Allen might tell him, but there really wasn't any good reason to test it out in any case. If worst came to worst, he had packed a few power cells with some miniature suns Ray Palmer had provided him with, which would give him a small boost if this mission went on for longer than expected. Even then, he understood that they were to be used during emergencies only, and not because his fingers were starting to feel a little numb from the cold out here.
But all this wasn't to say that he was complaining about having to be out here, doing this. Even discounting the fact that Bruce wouldn't ever let him hear the end of it if he caught wind of him, Superman, one of the most powerful beings on Earth being deterred by a little bit of chilly climate, this was a necessary job. If the lives of anyone depended on him, then of course he would be there with zero hesitation or reservations about the conditions, as long as people needed him to step up to the task at hand.
And boy, was he needed here.
It had all started a few weeks ago, when a wormhole had seemingly manifested itself randomly, connecting the two previously largely unknown planets F'ir'aaz'i and K'or'xha, making the previous galaxies worth of traveling distance between them take no more effort than walking a few steps through the unremovable gateways that had spawned on each planet's Citadel. And to make matters worse, just a few hours after the wormhole had appeared, explosives had went off on each planet, all targeting historical statues and memorials of great importance, which quickly caused the two forcibly neighboring planets to launch a full-scale war on eachother.
Word quickly spread throughout the universe, until eventually reaching the Justice League who all swiftly travelled there to lend their aid. After arriving and exerting a bit of their power to put the steadily growing war on hold, they'd quickly discovered a culprit behind the wormhole in Lobo, the ever-unpleasant Czarnian Space Hog-Riding bounty hunter who'd recently gotten a sophisticated wormhole generator as payment for a (sleazy, no doubt) job well done, and had used it on the two unsuspecting planets as his idea of an innocent prank. Then, when he'd gotten bored of what he saw as an insufficient amount of chaos as a result, he'd "upped the ante" by planting the explosives, stolen from each of the planets to frame the other, so he could sit back and munch snacks as he watched the war declarations unfold.
It hadn't taken long before they'd incapacitated the nuisance space biker. While Lobo was a formidable foe perfectly capable of holding his own against even Clark, a whole League of equally powerful heroes descending on him proved to be too much, even for the self-proclaimed Main Man. A quick conference between the two planets was held, and Lobo needed no further persuasion than a tight embrace from Diana's Lasso of Truth to confess his crimes (and spout off quite a few obscenities) to the Leaders of the planets, which by all means should have ended the conflict right then and there.
But of course it couldn't be that simple. These kinds of things never were.
The wormhole was still up and running, despite the best efforts of Bruce, Michael Holt and Victor Stone to take it down. After learning the device used to create it had been single-use only, Lobo had simply smashed it against his forehead, ruining any hope of reverse engineering. When interrogated about the creator's whereabouts, the last Czarnian had admitted that he didn't take kindly to "sleazeballs" like him thinking they could pay for his services with their Science Fair projects, no matter how fun they proved to be, and had, as he put it, "fragged that bastich" for ripping him off.
With all their options having been exhausted, the expert opinions of the smartest Men of the League had been for the populations of F'ir'aaz'i and K'or'xha to just try and live in peace with the portal connecting their worlds, while they kept researching for ways to solve the issue.
They... hadn't exactly taken kindly to that.
While definitely grateful to the League for averting a war that otherwise would have been very costly in both resources and lives, the F'ir'aaz'i citizens were a highly suspicious people whose mistrustful nature were rivaled only by that of the K'or'xha population. And although they both believed and accepted Lobo being the sole man responsible of this, it didn't exactly make them breathe easier knowing that the other planet could invade them at any time they wanted. The uncertainty, confusion and fear present amongst the two races in this unprecedented situation, doubled with the fact that neither had exactly made the best first impression to the other, was the spark for much conflict and trash talk, which would eventually, in all likelyhood, lead to another war started of their own free volition this time.
Still, it wasn't like they were stupid. Both planets were perfectly aware that they were pretty evenly matched, making it a complete coin toss of who would come out on top. And no matter which side would see victory, they all knew that it would only be achievable through years and years of intense misery and suffering, wich would have serious repercussions on their economy for centuries to come.
Nobody on either planet wanted a war, and yet tensions between them continued climbing steadily.
It was the K'or'xha Supreme Emperor, Xul'horac, who first reached out to the League, requesting their assistance towards negotiating a peace treaty with the F'ir'aaz'i. As well as being mistrustful and suspicious, both alien races were proud to a fault, and neither wanted to take the first step towards establishing a working relationship with whom they couldn't help but see as a sworn enemy. What they needed was someone from the League to stay behind, to help guide them into taking the right steps, to ensure things didn't get out of hand, and could ease any situation that might be caused by aggressive comments made without thinking, or other, equally foolish scenarios.
What they needed, was Superman.
While it was true that there were plenty of extraordinary people more than capable of handling this, like Hal, Diana and J'onn to name a few, Xul'horac and the F'ir'aaz'i Queen, Brogthyn, made it very clear that they wanted Clark over anyone else to oversee this.
It never ceased to astound Clark whenever he saw firsthand how much of an impact he'd had on the universe as a whole, just by doing a few good deeds. Even on these foreign planets, each one trillions of miles away from Earth, they'd heard tell of "the great feats" of "the Kryptonian Super Man," and even with them being as mistrustful of nearly everyone as they were, they all seemed to unanimously agree that if there was anyone they could trust with the delicate nature of this matter and act as a completely unbiased and fair mediator, it would be the one wearing the bright, hope-inspiring House of El crest.
He hadn't deemed it necessary to tell them about all of the... less than inspiring individuals flying around, wearing his S symbol like Hank Henshaw, Bizarro and The Eradicator. Heck, even Lex Luthor had worn it at one point.
He resisted the urge let out any of his air in a sigh, as he finally began to see the silver surface of the small version of The Javelin he'd borrowed as a base to be in whenever he wasn't lending his assistance to the planets. After all, they would never learn to co-exist on their own if he kept being there to watch over them.
They were making steady progress. Just today, they'd made it through a whole meeting without Xul'horac calling the F'ir'aaz'i "primitive and barbaric" even once, and Brogthyn had managed to refrain from making any derogatory gestures with her tentacles towards the K'or'xha chairmen. If they kept this up, Clark saw no reason why he couldn't return to his wife and son in Metropolis by the end of the week.
I miss them so much. He thought. What kind of husband am I, leaving my city, my friends, my FAMILY alone like this, completely unprotected? What if something happens to them while I'm up here, playing diplomat?
He quickly snapped out of this line of self-pitying thinking as he reached The Javelin,placing the palm of his hand on the surface of the ship, causing green letters to manifest next to his hand.
"Recognized: Superman. Welcome aboard."
A circular crack appeared on the otherwise smooth, silver surface, revealing a hatch which Clark quickly entered to find himself in the airlock of the ship, where he pressed a few buttons to balance the oxygen level.
There was no reason for him to put blame on himself. This was a very important job, and because of the name recognition that naturally came from being him, he was the only one who could do it with this amount of success.
And besides, he reminded himself, it just wasn't factually correct that he'd left Metropolis unprotected. Before his departure, he'd made sure to inform the likes of Karen, Kara and John Henry Irons, who'd all assured him that they'd keep the city safe in his absence, and he had complete faith and trust in them to keep their word.
Furthermore, he knew perfectly well through the many years of knowing her that Lois Lane was an extremely capable woman, who was more than up to the task of keeping both her, and their son safe.
Even so, he had told Jon not to go off exercising his superheroics throughout this week, and as an extra measure asked Power Girl, Supergirl and Steel to just check in on them every once in a while. Stealthily, of course. Lois would surely have a go at him if she found out he'd assigned them with what she would call "Super-Babysitters."
He smirked at the thought, as the loud "ping!" sound from the ship informed him that air levels were normal again, and he could finally let out a sigh of exhaustion. With the medium amount of solar radiation he had left in his system, he'd found himself actually growing tired again for the first time in a long while, but he imagined that even fully juiced up he'd be weary from having to listen to the political speeches of Xul'horac and Brogthyn day in and day out, and make sure to intervene if they tried to include subtle insults to the other leader without them noticing.
The door to the larger room of The Javelin slid open, with heavy sarcasm quotes over "larger." It wasn't exactly a cruise ship, designed mostly for fast space travel, and... not much for anything else, really.
The room was an "all-in-one," counting as living room, bedroom, kitchen and cockpit all at the same time. It was all very efficient, really. The pilot seat was the only upholstered piece of furniture in the room, and could double as a bed by pressing a button to tilt the back of it into a horizontal position so one could lie down. Of course, you'd have to collapse the miniscule dinner table behind it into the floor, first.
Beyond that, there was a tiny refrigerator in the far corner of the room, packed with rations Clark still hadn't gathered the courage to try yet, hoping that the negotiations would be over well before he got hungry enough to need food. Next to it, at the end of the room was a decently sized flatscreen used for when the planet leaders needed to contact him via video conference. Currently, it showed a still image of himself in his dad's old farmer's clothes, standing next to their old barn at Hamilton County, posing for the camera with Lois by his left side, arm around his, as she smiled confidently, and Jon by his right side, making a silly face for the camera.
Clark smiled as he always did when he saw that picture. God, Jon had been so young back then. Where did the time go? He felt like it was just yesterday when they'd decided to move away from the place and into the apartment at Metropolis instead.
To the side of the screen was the only door in the ship aside from the one to the airlock, leading to the even smaller and more cramped bathroom, which Clark swiftly moved towards. He had to bend his head down a bit to not scrape against the low ceiling as he walked, but that was okay with him since he usually had to hunch at the Daily Planet. When your main means of concealing your secret identity from the rest of the world were a pair of thick glasses, you had to think a little creatively to utilize it as much as possible.
Entering the bathroom, he looked himself over in the mirror above the sink. He was by no means a vain man, but even he thought that you should try to look as presentable as you could when meeting up for congress. And after having spent two whole days on F'ir'aaz'i overseeing a very sensitive debate about the rules of their own religions, how the K'or'xha citizens would be expected to conform to them, and how there was no way F'ir'aaz'i would ever acknowledge the "backwater primitive culture" of K'or'xha's religions as being something even remotely respectable, Clark saw that a very visible amount of gray stubble had started littering the lower parts of his face, and his dark hair, although still maintaining his familiar trademark kiss-curl, was looking a lot messier than he'd like, with a vague shine to it due to the grease that had gathered over the cause of those two days.
He turned his gaze down to his bright blue uniform bearing the House of El crest on the chest, and a red cape visible from behind him. The uniform bore a few trails of green slime from where F'ir'aaz'i officials had touched him for picture-taking, their skin naturally secreting the stuff.
He didn't need to lift his arm to sniff under his armpit, his keen sense of smell already informing him of what he already knew: he really needed a shower. The conjoined planets needed Superman, not some hairy caveman reeking of body odour.
It was a good thing showering had been considered one of the bare essentials when Cyborg had designed this spaceship. It would be a tight fit regardless, with the showerhead only reaching up to his chin at the highest setting, and that was with Clark hunching. To get underneath that, he would have to bend his knees so low, he would be close to sitting.
Maybe he should have chosen one of the bigger Javelins, like Diana had told him before he departed from the Hall of Justice. But he hadn't been able to justify taking one of those for this simple mission, in case the rest of the League would need to have a large team-up that required interstellar travel. The chances of that were admittedly small, but hey, it was a possibility.
Lois would definitely tell me that I make things harder for myself if she was here. He thought with a sigh, and began stripping out of his outfit.
After folding it up neatly, how Ma had taught him so many years ago, he put it into the decontamination bin by the side of the sink, where it would remain in the few minutes it would take for the lasers inside to systematically eliminate any trace of germs, bacteria and uncleanlines of any kind. Certainly quicker and more efficient than any washing machine he knew of, but also far less personal. Clark could live with this way for the moment, but he definitely knew how he preferred to have his clothes washed.
Turning on the water, and managing with some difficulty to position himself in a way that let the liquid cover his whole body, he looked up at the mirror again and decided to get two things done at once while he had to wait in this awkward crouching position anyway. He had never really been one to drag things out in the shower, even when he had the room to do it comfortably.
Feeling the familiar sensation of his eyes growing hot and seeing the bathroom turn bright red around him, he zoomed in on each one of the small hairs on his chin in the mirror, feeling the heat from his eyes being reflected from the glass surface onto his own face, burning away the stubble. Some people might say that bombarding his own face with incredibly concentrated amounts of heat was a very dangerous way to shave himself, but he would argue that if those people put dents in their razorblades simply by running them across their chins, they would probably look for more creative ways to trim themselves, too. Alternatively, he knew he could use his fingernails instead, but that just felt wrong.
The mirror started fogging up, obscuring his vision as the water that fell in front of his face immediately evaporated into steam at the contact with his heat vision, and Clark decided to turn it off. Feeling the smoothness around his chin, he knew he had gotten enough anyway.
He had only just managed to wash the last of the shampoo out of his hair when he heard the blaring alarm from the main room of the ship.
Time slowed to a crawl around him. Water droplets around him seemed to freeze in midair as Clark activated his superspeed.
The Earth Communicator in the other room had been activated. His family needed him.
Cyborg had really outdone himself with this device. Clark had no idea how he had managed to make a a piece of tech such as this, with a signal receiver capable of transmitting both sound and video from Earth in real time, no matter how far away in the Universe you found yourself, but he was grateful for its creation regardless. Supposedly, you could even go to the far reaches of the Source Wall itself, and still have crystal clear signal. Well, maybe the video could lag a bit at times, and the audio quality had a fair bit of static, but that could easily be overlooked. Immediately upon its creation, Clark had given one to Lois, granting her the ability to contact him no matter where he was.
However, it wasn't like whatever energy source it used to make this possible was free, and calling him up when he was trillion of miles in deep space racked up a cost just slightly more expensive than a phone call to Australia, so they'd agreed upon not using it for smalltalk on lonely nights (no matter how appealing that prospect seemed to him lately) and only activate it if she or Jon absolutely needed him.
Which they did now.
The device utilized some of the same technology as Jimmy Olsen's watch, giving it a signal that fell on deaf ears for most creatures, but a Kryptonian could clearly hear a whole planet away, ensuring that he would be able to hear it, even while being on the alien planets.
He used a fraction of a second to turn off the water, dry himself, and put on the now impeccably cleaned outfit from the bin. The first "zeee" tone of the Communicator was halfway through running out when he snatched it up from its place in the pilot seat, and hit the green respond button.
"Lois?" He asked, unable to keep the concern out of his voice as he waited with baited breath for the small blank black screen to begin transmitting video. Uncomfortable visions flashed in his head of all the reasons his family would have to call him. Darkseid invading Metropolis with his armies of Parademons. Amazo having stolen too many powers from the League to be stopped. The Multiverse collapsing.
But to his surprise, it wasn't the sight of his wife that met him when at last the video connected. It was a young, darkhaired boy, looking so much like Clark had when he'd been younger, blue eyes looking through the screen at his father, with no hint of the usual wide smile on his face.
"Hey dad." Came the scratchy voice through the speakers of the Communicator. The unmistakable voice of Clark's son, Jonathan Kent. "It's... good to see you."
Even with the somewhat lacklustre audio quality, Clark could hear that something was deeply wrong. Jon's voice sounded... off, and he thought his eyes looked a bit too puffy and red, as if he'd been crying. Clark hoped that was just the video resolution playing tricks on him, but braced himself regardless for hearing the worst as he spoke up.
"Jon? What's the matter? Why are you calling? Is your mother okay?"
"Nothing's wrong!" Jon's pixelated eyes widened in a slight panic at hearing the alarm in Clark's voice. "We're totally safe, the world's not in peril, and mom is right here in the room with me, she's just on the phone right now."
The framerate of the video lowered as it struggled to keep up with the sudden movement of Jon tilting the device to the side, until it cleared somewhat up again to show Lois, as breathtakingly beautiful as she'd been on the first day he'd seen her at the Daily Planet, sitting by the dinner table at their apartment, holding a phone to her ear. She looked up, waved a blurry hand upon seeing Clark, and lowered the phone, covering the mouthpiece with her hand.
"Hey, Smallville." She said, in an unmistakably tired voice, before raising the phone to her ear again.
She didn't look much happier than Jon did, but from what Clark could tell from this admittedly low quality, she was unscathed. He raised an eyebrow, wondering what the point of this call was if everything was seemingly fine, as Jon came back into frame again on the small screen.
"I'm really sorry for calling you." Jon said, in that same troubled voice. "I know we aren't supposed to do that when you're so deep in space and busy with the fate of worlds unless there's a real emergency, but something happened today, and... and I..."
Jon's voice broke just like Clark's heart did at seeing his son like this. It was clear that something had upset him deeply, as he closed his eyes, taking in shuddering breaths. The video quality wasn't good enough to show them, but Clark didn't need it to be able to tell that tears were streaming down his face. After a few seconds, he pulled himself together enough to speak in a small, whimpering voice.
"...I just don't know what to do, dad, and I... I just really needed to talk to you."
At hearing that, Clark wanted nothing more than to blow off this entire mission, leaving F'ir'aaz'i and K'or'xha to figure their politics out on their own, and fly as fast as he could down to Earth to comfort his son. Rationally, he knew that was a selfish betrayal of everything he stood for, and that even at his top speed which was quite a bit faster than the speed of light, the trip to earth would take him over a day, and that was when he had all of his powers fully charged.
But Jon needed him.
Sure wish I had Lobo's wormhole generator now. He thought bitterly, cursing the Czarnian bounty hunter for this mess he'd caused.
"You have nothing to apologize for." He said, in the most comforting dad voice he could manage, hoping his tone would come across over the Communicator. He meant it. He didn't care about how expensive this call would be, Bruce could pick up the damn bill. "I'll always have time to talk to my family if they need me, no matter what I'm doing, don't you forget that. Now, what is it that's troubling you?"
Jon took another shuddering breath, fighting back sobs.
"Dad, have you... have you ever encountered suicide victims before?"
Clark frowned. He could already tell this would be a rough conversation.
"Yes. I have." He said.
It was a very uncomfortable subject for him. Too many times had he heard the terrible sounds, in his own city no less, of creaking ropes in living rooms, firearms pointed directly at heads going off, and the sickening impact of someone simply throwing themself off a building towards the street below.
They were sounds that terrified and haunted him even more than the screams of the Silver Banshee, because he knew the people in question were doing it of their own free volition, knowing their actions would result in tragic death, and still went on regardless.
And far too often was he too late to prevent them.
"Dad..." Jon said, his voice small, hardly even picked up by the microphone. "How do you save someone who doesn't want to be saved?"
At that, Jon broke down completely as he fully burst out crying, and Clark got another nearly uncontrollable impulse to abandon the planets worth of life nearby who all needed him, fly to the firepits of Apokolips and probably declare war on Earth in the process as he would take on each and every one of Darkseid's minions until one of them would give him a Mother Box he could use to make a Boom Tube directly to Earth, and hug his son.
Instead, he waited patiently for Jon to gain control of himself again, not rushing him even once. A few minutes went by before Jon quieted down a bit. He looked so vulnerable like this, and no matter how much the years had changed his appearance since they moved to Metropolis, Clark could clearly recognize his little boy in him.
"Take your time. Deep breaths."
Jon hesitated, then obeyed, and a few bursts of static could be heard from the speakers as he exhaled.
Clark smiled, hoping to reassure his son that everything would be all right.
"Feel better?"
"A... a bit, yes. Thanks."
"Good." Clark said, and tried to employ one of the techniques he'd learned as an investigative reporter to encourage the people he interviewed to open up more. "Now, how about you try and start from the beginning? I'd love to help in any way that I can, but I need to know the full context first. Okay?"
"Okay." Jon said, nodding to show he understood, determination showing up in his face, pushing past the sadness.
That's my son. Clark thought proudly.
"So... I started attending the school in Gotham like we arranged, remember?"
"I do." Clark said.
He'd had some qualms about sending Jon to a city like Bruce's, but he couldn't deny that whatever else you could say about Gotham's flaws, like its pollution, seedy nightclubs, crime rate and amount of costumed lunatics, its education systems were top notch. And with Jon's own school having recently been unwillingly put out of commission, courtesy of one stray shrink ray from Brainiac, the idea of him going to Gotham seemed like a downright decent idea, especially when Bruce had told his son, Jon's best friend (for better or worse) Damian to go there as well.
"Okay, so at the school, I met this really nice g-girl, and we quickly became friends." Jon said, tripping a bit over his words.
Under normal circumstances, the news of Clark's son gaining a female friend would have been a cause for celebration in the Kent household, with Lois and Clark going full on "Mom and Dad" mode, clapping Jon on the shoulder and telling him "way to go!" to see just how much they were able to embarrass him. But Clark could tell that this wouldn't be an appropriate reaction this time, seeing Jon's expression.
"W-we got on r- really well, me and her, or so I th- thought, anyway." Jon said, his lips starting to quiver again. "And we even agreed to han- meet together at her place today, but... but then when I got there..."
Jon swallowed, before he went on explaining the rest.
Clark's heart sank as he heard the full extent of Jon's tale, and he now fully understood why Jon had felt the need to use the Communicator. Such an awful thing to have happen, for Jon and the girl both. His son might have grown older and more mature than he once had been, but he was still way too young to be forcibly exposed to something as serious as this happening to a person so close to him.
It did something to you. Even Clark, unfortunately being as "experienced" with these sorts of things as he was, thought he could feel himself physically age a few years each time he had to try and talk down someone on a ledge who'd lost all hope, or when he discovered too late the body of someone whose death had been caused purely by their own hands. He couldn't even imagine what Jon was going through now, getting a new friend he obviously cared for a lot, only to have her almost be taken away from him again like this.
Clark hadn't wanted Jon to learn about this dark aspect of humanity so soon, and certainly not in this way, but now that it had happened like this, there was no going back. Jon would have to live with it, and Clark would have to do his best to guide him through it.
"I- I'm sorry, dad." Jon said, tears visible even through the video's resolution, dribbling down his face after he'd finished recounting how his evening had turned out at the girl's house.
Clark furrowed his eyebrows, confused.
"Sorry? Sorry for what, Jon?"
"R- revealing my i- identity" Jon sniffled. "I know that w- wasn't my call to make, a- and that it brings our whole family in d- danger, but I just... She told me she w- was going to try to d-do it again, and I... I couldn't think of anything else to do!"
"Shh, Jon." Clark said, in a soothing voice. "It's okay. I know you're a smart kid, and I trust your judgment completely. If you think this girl can be trusted with knowing who you are, then that's good enough for me."
Jon didn't reply, being too busy sobbing quietly. Clark pushed away his burning desire to go to Earth and comfort him, instead focusing on what he could do to help from here.
"How are you feeling, Jon?" He asked.
"Th- that doesn't m- matter." Jon blurted out between shuddering breaths. "I- I wasn't the one who tried to h- hang myself. It's about h- her, not m- me, and-"
"Jon." Clark interrupted, holding up his hand to quiet his son. "You've just been exposed to a traumatic experience. What that girl did was tragic and terrible, no one's denying that, and I am so proud of you for doing what you did. But I'm asking you now. How do you feel?"
There was a few seconds of silence as Jon considered Clark's words.
"Lousy." He spoke up at last.
"That's only natural." Clark said. "Try to look deep into yourself, and expand on your emotions some more."
"I- I guess I feel... frustrated, over how little impact any of what I did seemed to have on her. And- and scared too, since I don't think I left her in a great headspace. I mean, better than what she was like before, but still, I have no way of knowing if she'll follow through with our agreement, or if she'll give up halfway through tonight."
Clark could definitely relate to that. During the early days of life with Lois, post-identity reveal, he'd been worried non-stop about the ramifications of bringing her into this dangerous life of his. Of course, it wasn't like she was a stranger to the world of supervillains and natural disasters, being a reporter long before she even knew him as Clark Kent, but it had been as if the simple act of telling her the truth about who he was had brought her just a tad bit closer to danger. He'd been so ridden with anxiety, constantly thinking about how fragile she was compared to himself and the beings he fought, and had found himself wishing he could just lock her safely away in the Fortress of Solitude so she could never be hurt by the likes of creatures like Rogol Zaar and Kalibak.
Eventually though, he'd learned to be a bit more trusting in his wife's capabilities to handle herself, and treat her like an equal instead of a piece of rare china, something to be locked away in fear that she might break otherwise. He still worried his head off whenever he had to leave like he had now, but it was one of those things where he just had to accept that sometimes, things were just outside of his control, and that was okay. After all, a life where you controlled everything that happened at all times, eliminating all dangers, risks, surprises or any kind of unpredictability, was hardly a life worth living at all.
"...I feel ashamed." Jon said.
"Ashamed?" Clark asked in surprise. "Why is that?"
"I'm Superboy. Son of Superman. I have all of these amazing powers, and I'm supposed to use them to save people, but I couldn't save her. I could only... delay it."
Clark sighed.
"Son, if there's one thing I've learned since I started going out in costume, it's that no matter how hard you try, even with the amount of powers we've been gifted with, it's impossible to save everyone. It's... a rough thing to accept, but you shouldn't beat yourself up about not being able to do something nobody else is able to, and hold yourself up to such an unreachable standard."
"It's just not fair!" Jon exclaimed, looing up at Clark with eyes bloodshot from crying. "Why is it that we can save all those complete strangers from earthquakes and alien invasions, but not the people who actually matter?!"
"Everyone matters, Jon." Clark said, quietly.
"I know that, but-" Jon's voice cracked. "Th- this girl just matters a lot to me, and- and she's telling me to just give up on her. That there's nothing I can do to help her."
Jon took a deep breath, clearly in an effort to calm himself.
"Was- was I wrong to take her on that flight? I couldn't think of what to do, but I always feel happy when flying so I just thought... maybe she would too?"
"You did what you thought was best in a tense situation no one could have ever prepared you for. That's all that matters." Clark said. He thought that maybe Jon could have warned this girl of what he was going to do, since from what he had heard of Jon's retelling of the event, the girl's reaction had lined up pretty well with a classic fear of heights. But this really wasn't the time to give his son a critique of his actions. "I commend you for making her agree to try out therapy. That was a really good move."
"I just can't shake off this worry." Jon said, looking unsure. "She seemed so convinced that it wouldn't work, so sure that nothing could make her life worth living again, that for a split second I- I found myself... agreeing with her. Dad, what if... what if this doesn't work, and as soon as this week is through she'll go right back to where she was before? Back to being completely devoid of hope, and try to do... that, again? What do I do then?"
Clark looked sadly at his son, and braced himself.
"You can't force her to be happy, Jon." He said, and saw the sheer shock on his son's face at hearing his words. "It's ultimately her own choice whether she wants to live or not, and if she decides she doesn't, no matter how awful it is, we have to respect her wishes."
"What?!" Jon yelled, outraged. "You- you're saying there's nothing I can do? That I should just sit back, and LET her kill hers-"
Jon was silenced once more as Clark lifted his hand again.
"No Jon, I'm not saying that, and you will never hear me say that. The best thing you can do right now for your friend, is to be there for her, at all times. Visit her while she's at Leslie's Clinic. Call, or text her over your phone. Do your best to let her know that you care about her, and that you don't think she's a bother. What you did today was a great first step, but there is still a long way to go, filled with hard work and dedication for you to truly help her get through this, and even then, you have to prepare yourself for the possibility that it won't be enough for her to want to keep on living."
There was a few moments of silence as Jon took in what Clark had said, until at last he rubbed some tears away from his eyes and spoke up.
"That- that doesn't sound like very good advice."
Clark smiled sadly.
"Unfortunately, there are no magical 'fix everything' buttons to these types of issues, Jon. Sometimes, things like this just happens, whether we like it or not, and there's nothing even a Superman can do about it. It's a... harsh truth, but that just makes it that much more important for us to find the hope."
"It's not fair." Jon said, scowling.
"I know it can seem that way." Clark said. "It doesn't seem fair either that Sue Dibny and Ted Kord are both dead while Maxwell Lord and Doctor Light are still alive. Or that Barbara Gordon is confined to a wheelchair with The Joker still at large, and actively planning to hurt more people. Or that Kal-L and Lois Lane from Earth 2 both met their end while Superboy Prime is still out there, somewhere, alive and well."
"I never liked that guy." Jon said, cringing at hearing of the man who shared his hero name.
"I don't think anyone does." Clark said, smirking despite himself. "It can seem like the whole universe is against us sometimes, with so many good people dying, heroes as well as normal people without powers, while the forces of evil just keeps on growing larger, with new villains popping up on what feels like every other day. But it's not. There are plenty of good things happening all the time, so often overshadowed by the bad stuff. The universe is neither with us, or against us. It just... is. And I'm so sorry, Jon. You should never have had to face this issue, especially not at your age. But you can't lose the hope that you'll both get through this. Because once you lose that, that's when the fight is truly lost."
Jon sighed.
"I won't." He said, giving a weak smile. "Thanks for listening, dad. I have to go now, it's late."
Clark smiled back.
"Do not hesitate to call me back again if you need me." He said. "I don't care how much using this device costs to use, you and Lois are the two most important people to me, and I will always have time for you."
"Don't worry, I will." Jon said. "Bye dad. Please come home soon!"
"Goodbye, son. I'll see what I can do." Clark said, and the Communicator's screen turned black as Jon disconnected.
Clark sighed, as he sat down in the pilot seat. If he'd been tired before, he was positively exhausted after having had to talk about such a heavy subject with his son. He hoped he hadn't come across as being overly negative to Jon with the things he'd said, and made him think there wasn't anything he could do to help this girl struggling with depression. He just... he had wanted to make it clear to Jon that this wasn't the sort of problem one could solve simply by punching some bad guy in the face, or telling him that "as long as he believed in himself, anything's possible!" He hadn't wanted to sow false hope into Jon with something as serious as depression.
Now that he thought about it, Clark had actually been surprised by how well Jon had taken it. He'd accepted it far more quickly than he had expected, and he could feel a strong feeling of pride in his son amongst the general feelings of weariness and exhaustion throughout his body.
He's grown so mature. When did that even happen? He thought, proudly.
A beeping coming from the end of the ship's room shook him from his idle thoughts, and he looked up to see the alert for an incoming transmission on the screen, coming from K'or'xha.
Clark suppressed a sigh, and pushed away his feelings of fatigue before rising to his feet, clicking a button to accept the transmission. He momentarily pushed his worries about Jon and his troubles with the girl to the back of his mind, in order to give this impromptu meeting his fullest attention. He wasn't Clark Kent, mild-mannered reporter and father anymore, he was Superman.
The picture of him and his family on the screen disappeared to reveal a rather large insectoid creature, pale blue in hue with bright yellow eyes, almost larger than the head they were positioned on top of, staring harshly at Superman as he clicked his mandibles, a clear sign of his anger.
"Emperor Xul'horac, you honor me with your presence." Superman said in a respectful voice, bowing slightly in acknowledgement, trusting the universal translator in the ship to make his words understandable to the alien. "To what do I owe this overwhelming pleasure?"
"Superman." Xul'horac clicked, impatience clear in his tone. "You must come to the conjoined conference hall at once to settle this latest dispute between me and the F'ir'aaz'i witch!"
"Emperor Xul'horac, remember what we've talked about with the namecalling." Superman said, frowning. This would be the third disagreement he'd had with Queen Brogthyn in as many hours. One would think that the great Emperor would run out of grievances eventually. "What is the nature of this dispute?"
"My Xilter has been stolen." The K'or'xha leader hissed, mandibles going haywire. From what Superman could remember from his brief history lesson of the planet, Xilter were a highly praised and worshipped species of giant larvae, comparable to the likes of cattle on Earth. "And I just know that treacherous wit- I mean, Queen Brogthyn had something to do with it!"
"Do you have any proof?" Superman asked, finding it highly unlikely that Brogthyn would risk all the progress towards peace they'd made the last couple of days, just to steal something that he knew for a fact the F'ir'aaz'i found competely worthless. "Any evidence at all to support your theory?"
"I don't need no evidence, this has her MO all over it!" Xul'horac said irritably. "If you're not to be found at the conjoined conference hall in one hour, overseeing this, I'm declaring war on those thieving cephalopods again!"
Accepting that this was a job for him, Superman bowed graciously to Xul'horac again.
"Always a pleasure to receive your beckoning, great Emperor."
Xul'horac released the best approximation of a snort he could manage with his mandibles, and disconnected from the call, causing the screen to revert to Clark and his family smiling up at him in front of the barnhouse.
Superman sighed, and began preparing the airlock in order to open the hatch out into the deep, cold space. It didn't seem like peace between the planets would be achieved today.
Be strong, Jon. He thought, as the hatch opened, and he stretched out his hand, departing from The Javelin to fly off and save the day.
Hey guys!
Just a short little filler chapter this time around, but one I hope you'll enjoy nonetheless, before we return to the plot again next chapter. And I can already tell you, it's gonna be a long one.
Everything about the warring alien races in this chapter was me going into my friends' group chat, telling them to give me a bunch of weird names, which I then wrote into this. So if they pranked me by giving me the names of already existing characters from some obscure franchise I'm unfamiliar with, they're the ones to blame!
And now, to the people kind enough to leave a review on the previous chapter:
Thank you, "mr. wolf54543," I am very honored to be the first person you decided to leave a review to, and your words mean the world to me. Seriously. I was so glad to read about how this story made you feel happy, so please don't hesitate to leave another one if you feel like it. I always appreciate every piece of feedback I get on my works, be it positive, negative or just general discussion and speculation.
Thank you, "Finwee Lord of Long Winds," for your kind words. And don't worry about the length or deepness of your review. As mentioned before, I love every single one of you who decide to comment on this story.