Title: Daddy

Author: Smallvillian

Disclaimer: characters aren't mine

Author's note: This was inspired by Vortex and the Superman I movie :)

Feedback: Yes, please

"No, no, no don..."

It was too late. Warm bath water already drenched Jonathan's work shirt--and his face-- as the dark haired little boy giggled with delight at the mighty slash. Part of him couldn't help but smile, too, even as droplets of water ran down his face and pooled onto bathroom the floor.

"All right, little guy, I think that's enough," Jonathan said as he took the boy in his arms and wrapped him in a towel that was big enough to swallow him whole as he playfully scruffed the child's wet hair, partly drying it as his son smiled back at him.

That face. For someone so small it seemed as though he held so many answers behind his quiet, knowing little smirk, as if he were saying 'If only you knew what I know.' If only indeed. In one week Clark had yet to say a word--at least, not anything they understood. Oh, he was smart, there was no doubt about that. A melted toy car in the microwave early one morning proved he was at least very aware of himself and everything around him. Maybe he was just a little shy.

"Where's mommy? Mom went to the store, right? Who am I?" the man asked, then pointed to himself. "Daddy? Dad-dy? Dad?" Nothing. Just the same innocent stare. "Still not a word, huh?" Jonathan grinned, adjusting the boy in his arms and placing a kiss on his forehead while gazing back into those big, soulful, blue eyes. "That's all right. Listening is a lost art form anyway. Why don't we go get you dressed."

Clothing. What an adventure that concept had turned out to be. As it had turned out, young Clark fancied the idea of wearing nothing but his birthday suit and it was quite the task to convince him otherwise. For the first couple of days, whenever he would wear anything, in what seemed like minutes, Martha would find him prancing the around the house stark naked, just as natural as you please. In the past week they had at least managed to keep his clothes on most of the time. Now, if they could just manage pajamas.

"Okay, Clark, no funny business, you hear? Good boys keep their clothes on... One day when you're older, we'll have to have this talk again but you didn't hear me say that," he added under his breath as approached what was once the guest bedroom and put the child on the ground to pick out some underwear and a nightshirt from a small dresser. But when Jonathan turned back around with the clothing in hand, Clark was nowhere to be found.

He glanced around the doorframe into the hall. "Clark. It's time to dress for bed." The answer was an almost immediate giggling from underneath the large oak bed behind him. "Clark, dad's a little too big to be crawling under there after you. Come on out and get your clothes on, son."

Oh yeah. The boy really hopped to it all right. This parenting business was obviously a little more complicated than the man had thought. With a sigh, he dropped to his hands and knees, catching a glimpse of little hands that hurriedly moved out of reach. "Ha ha, very funny. Play time is over. Let's go, son," he said scooting his way under the wood frame only to find Clark grinning back at him, just short of grabbing range. One more scoot would do it. "Aaahhh!!"

Unfortunately, one more scoot also put a small stray nail right into his palm and he couldn't help but cry out with the pain. As Jonathan lay there, eyes squeezed shut, he instinctively rolled to his back and pulled his hand protectively to his chest. The fact that he shouldn't be able to when pinned underneath a large bed didn't occur to him till moments later when he opened his eyes and looked about.

At first he had thought perhaps the pain had been causing him to see things but...no, the bed was definitely a good few feet above him. Turning his head from one side to the other trying to find some logical explanation for this strange sight, he could never be prepared for what he saw: His little boy, all of three years old, holding a five hundred pound bed over his head with no more trouble than picking up his play blocks. For the first time in his life, Jonathan fully understood the expression 'struck dumb.' All he could seem to manage was to lay there and stare, blinking up at the unfathomable sight. Then just as easily as he'd lifted it, Clark tossed the bed to the side and knelt down looking worriedly over his father, his gaze intensely opposite from the playfulness of before as a small trail of blood ran down the man's wrist.

"It's all right, Clark," Jonathan said, gentle and sure, finally grounded in the unease of his son's face. "I'm okay," he said, sitting up and taking a deep, shaky breath. "Daddy's okay." But even as he said the words, Clark continued to stare anxiously at the blood, not understanding.

"It's just a little owie, see?" Wiggling his fingers to show his hand was fine, Jonathan wasn't sure what surprised him more--that Clark was stronger than three generations of Kent men combined or that he had actually used the word 'owie.' "Daddy's not really hurt. I just need to be more careful when I drop things, that's all."

Little Clark looked down at his tiny hand, flexing his own fingers open and closed then looked up again. After a moment, he picked up the clothes behind him and handed them to Jonathan, raising his arms up, an invitation to dress.

Jonathan smiled as he stood and took the boy's hand in his. "Very good, but that'll have to wait. Dad needs to take care of this. Mom would have a fit if we ruined your new clothes, " he joked.

Martha was never going to believe the night they had had, he thought, as the two made their way back to the bathroom for some minor first aid.

He was right. Martha didn't believe it. And who could blame her? Would he if he hadn't seen it? And of course, as it always is with fate and the universe, Clark had no interest in showing off his super skills for mommy. Mommy thought daddy had been out in the sun too long that day. Maybe he had imagined the whole thing after all. It was a pretty crazy notion, Clark being some kind of mini Iron Man...but then it was no crazier than a child falling from the stars. Still struggling with the idea the next afternoon, as he drove his new family into town, Jonathan might have thought on it more had the loud pop sound and swerve of the truck not brought his thoughts quickly back down to earth.

"Damn it," he growled as he brought the truck to a stop along side of the road. "Are you both all right?"

"We're okay," Martha answered, petting their son's hair and making certain he hadn't been frightened.

Jonathan got out and walked around the vehicle to find that a metal shard, which appeared to be debris left over from the many accidents surrounding the meteor shower not so long ago, had punctured the left back tire. Kicking the tire for no particular reason other than it being a convenient target, he took out the jack while Martha and Clark came out to inspect the damage.

"Do you have a spare?" his wife asked, holding Clark in her arms.

"Yeah, I'll have this fixed in no time. Don't worry," he said, trying to sound more upbeat than he felt at that moment. "You two just sit tight." A few minutes later and the truck was up on its jack while Jonathan walked around to the back to grab the extra tire. Clark had become restless and wriggled free from his mother to play by the quiet country road.

His father would remember what happened next in a cloudy haze, like waking from deep sleep and trying to recall a dream.

Suddenly, the jack gave way, the back end of the truck came crashing down, free to roll back on its owner.

"Jonathan!" came the terrified scream from his wife.

Then time seemed to have frozen. No movement. No sound. Nothing but the blowing breeze.

"Jonathan?"

Martha's use of his name wasn't so much worry for him than as it was shaken with shock and confusion. When he walked around to the front of the truck where his wife looked on in disbelief, he could understand why. Their darling toddler was holding up the front end of their truck.

"Clark, put the truck down," Jonathan said as calmly as he could manage. And he watched as the child set the wheels carefully to the ground. "Come here."

The little boy toddled over seemingly oblivious to the idea that anything unusual had happened, wearing the familiar mysterious grin. Jonathan got to his knees and took the boy by the shoulders as Martha walked up behind him, still in shock. "Are you all right?" he asked, unable to keep the trembling from his voice. He didn't really expect an answer, though the boy's face did take on a more serious expression as he looked from Jonathan to the truck.

"N'more owies, daddy."

At first the man just sat there, not quite believing his own ears. But as the words sunk in, he swallowed back tears. Clark, who had apparently taken his father's silence for misunderstanding, took Jonathan's right hand, turning it over and putting a finger to the bandage there. "Daddy's not hurt." he said again, then looked back at the truck.

When Jonathan found his own voice again, there was only one thing he wanted to hear in that little voice again. "Who am I, Clark?" his voice shook.

And Clark smiled as he answered while both his parents cried.

"Daddy."

The End