Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wheat and Barley... What's the difference?

After saving Metropolis without much difficulty (Clark likes to think), the Kent family has decided that maybe a rest is overdue. But, Life on the farm isn't so easy. I mean, Ma is already asking Clark to sort the wheat grains from the barley! God, can't he catch a break? What's the difference, anyways?

As it turns out.... a lot.

Taking one look at Clark Kent, journalist for the Daily Planet, bent over double on a stump of wood and shifting beige grain from beige grain, wheat from barley, you might think he's bored to death of this. Probably a punishment for missing a deadline, a dull story about the differences between the pain scale of splinters in the behind versus splinters in your fingers. But, it's really rather the opposite; If you listen closely, drowning out the constant background noise of cicadas and wheat crops swishing in the dry air, you can hear him humming a happy little tune to himself. A work song, one that Pa used to hum as he drove the cattle round and scattered the seeds, the same one that Ma used to whistle as she peeled potatoes and shucked corn. A song that Clark knew very well, very well indeed. 

God, Clark has missed this; The hot Kansas sun beating down on the back of your neck, the occasional butterfly and the more-than-occasional horsefly whizzing around your head, and the feeling of dust under your fingernails. It was all so familiar, so homely and comforting. Being in the hustle bustle of the big city was wonderful, but it couldn't beat the quiet of the country. Lois had always been drawn to the city, and that's why he stayed. Sure, it was nice to have a constant stream of human buzz, but could it really beat the feeling of waking up to nothing more than a rooster's crow, and not a car's horn? He'd spent hours trying to convince Lois to come to the country, to come back to where he'd grown up and let her have a taste of his own home-grown medicine. Besides - Jon was itching to ride a horse anyhow, so why not give the kid a go?

The drive to Kansas was slow, a grueling twelve-hour crawl from one end of America to the other. Jon laid his head against the window and let the vibration of the glass lull him to sleep, the car engine and hushed smalltalk from his mother and father proving to be excellent white noise. He'd argued against the drive at first, trying to convince his mother that 'I can carry the bags, and dad can carry you! Krypto can fly by himself, he'll be fine.' But a stern scolding from both of his parents (Thanks for really sticking up for your son, Dad.) soon set him right. But, it really wasn't all that bad, Jon reluctantly admitted to himself. It was nice to just sit in the backseat and look out the window, watching as the surrounding landscape changed from city skyline to farmland. Krypto was laying on his lap, the dog drooling onto his jeans as he snored. 

Looking behind her, Lois smiled gently as she saw how quickly Jon had fallen asleep. She'd taken a nap earlier herself, taking the chance to recharge her batteries while she was still passenger side. The family was only five hours in, and at the halfway mark she'd have to switch. She looked to her left to see Clark looking straight ahead, his glasses tilted slightly to the right as they always were, a small lock of his hair flipping down to grace his forehead with a curl. He was always so focused when it came to driving; A little too much super-powered pressure on the accelerator and the car would go flying. She looked back to her right, enjoying the view while she still could. They'd gotten going at 11 in the morning, and it was already reaching 4 in the afternoon; She could see the cows settling under trees, the birds beginning to slow as they made their way back to the nest, and the corn stalks filtering the last slivers of the midday sun through their leaves. It was a nice view to fall asleep to.

Waking up a few hours later to a gentle hand nudging her shoulder, Lois looks around to see Jon still passed out in the backseat, his head slumped and his arms around Krypto, and finally a friendly, yet tired, face telling her that 'Its your turn to do the driving. I let you sleep for an hour or two more; you looked like you needed it.'  Sighing, she reluctantly switched sides, gripping the steering wheel as she started off into the night. It was dark, but the moon provided enough light to ensure that she wouldn't hit a stray deer along the way. She looked to her right to see Clark already slouched over, his head leaning on the window and his glasses slipping off his nose. With a small smile and a shake of her head, Lois glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 8:00. A couple more hours, and they should be pulling into the Kent driveway, gravel crunching under the cars wheels and dust covering the radiator grille. But, for now, there'd be a long road of tar and yellow lines ahead.

Yawning, Lois took a sip of the coffee in the tumbler sitting in the cup holder; it was far past cold by now, but the flavor was still there, and so was the caffeine. She blinked, rubbing her eyes and getting the remaining sleep out of them. Nobody else was on the road, so she let her foot press down on the accelerator, speeding up. Trees and fields became a blur, the only thing remaining constant was the dull shine of the moon high up in the sky as it watched her small sedan speed across the long country road..... A boring last stretch, Lois could be sure of it.

Hitting a large chunk of gravel, Lois jolts slightly in her seat and blinks, clearing her head. She'd zoned out for the last three hours and had been running on autopilot, keeping her foot at a steady rate on the pedal. Now, she was stopped at the entrance to the Kent driveway. It was a long, winding thing; running along pastures full of tufty grass and rabbit holes, with several cows poking their heads eagerly over electric fences to sneak a look at the newcomers driving in - they didn't get many visitors. She spun into the driveway and began the slow crawl up the road, glancing in the rear view mirror to check whether Jon was awake yet. Krypto's ear was pricked up, an indicator that he had felt the decline in speed and deduced that they would be stopping soon. Jon, however, was much less aware of his surroundings, and was still deep into his nap, his mouth slightly open and his head tilted far back against the headrest.

She turned back towards the front, seeing as the Kent family house came into view over the hill. It was quaint, a stout brick farmhouse with two stories and a thin chimney that always had a thin trail of smoke curling out of its top. Clark had always spoke of it fondly; the gentle noise of the farm around you as you went to bed, the warm summer nights where you left your window open to let a cool breeze blow by, knowing exactly which stairs made the creaking sound as you sneaked downstairs to watch the fireflies dance on the grass. Lois hadn't really paid much attention to these stories when Clark had first told them, but now she was eager to experience them herself - to hear the birds whistle their morning call, to see the horses buck at each other as they played in the fields, to feel the morning dew on the grass under her fingertips. It all felt so homely already, and she hadn't even parked the car. 

She parked next to the front of the house, the stones under the wheels crunching as they slid to a stop. Krypto poked his head through the gap between the front seats, already awake and far more alert than anyone else in the car. His tail, wagging back and forth, whacked Jon in the eye, causing him to jolt awake.

"bgh- huh? What? What happened?"

He said quickly, looking around, before eventually landing his gaze onto the house. He looked over it with a careful eye, before slumping back into his seat tiredly; Lois could only assume that he approved. She chuckled, turning back to nudge Clark, who woke largely the same way. It was amazing how clumsy they both were - superhumans, capable of lifting buildings, yet completely shattered after a simple road trip.

Unbuckling her seatbelt (and hearing the click of two others following suit), Lois stepped out of the car and took a minute to stretch. Her limbs felt like lead, and her eyelids even heavier. She'd finished her coffee ration far too early into the trip.. she should have been more careful when she had it. Ah, well, no time for complaining. Soon, she'd be curled under crisp white sheets, a thick floral duvet and a soft pillow behind her head, with a more wildly-patterned decorative pillow set on the floor... Just the right conditions for a aching body to recuperate. But, right now, they needed to unpack.

Jon couldn't stand the tediousness of unpacking things. It slowed the world down tremendously; What was even the point of putting clothes into a drawer when, in two weeks, they'd be folding them right back into the suitcase? It was far more efficient to just leave them in there. But, as always, a mother's scolding set him right, and he was tossing socks into the top drawer of Ma's old dresser. He'd been given the attic room, one with a nice big window on the side that let the moonlight in and a big old bed sitting nicely in the corner. It was cozy, and he could share it with Krypto since Ma didn't mind having a dog in the house as long as he didn't sleep in one of the nicer guest rooms. Having finished unpacking all his belongings, Jon settled into his bed. The old metal frame creaked a little, a needy whine for a drop of oil that he didn't have; it'd have to quench its thirst a few nights longer. Krypto followed suit, digging into the duvet and plopping down next to Jon's legs. The moonlight streamed through the window onto the floor, casting a faint light across the whole room - it was comforting, and Jon fell asleep quickly.

Downstairs in the guest master bedroom, Lois and Clark were having one last cup of tea before heading off to bed themselves. Their bedroom was large, with a King bed and two dressers on either side. A large bay window with a day bed sat on the other side of the room, but it'd been blocked off by the curtains when they'd closed them for the night. Finishing her tea, Lois set the cup down and settled into bed... she tossed the decorative pillow onto the floor, wriggled into the crisp white sheets, pulled the thick floral duvet over her shoulders and sighed contentedly into the soft pillow behind her head. Her eyelids almost seemed to close on their own, and she could feel Clarks' strong arms wrap around her waist as he laid beside her. The crickets outside sung their delicate melody until even they tapered off into a doze, and all was quiet on the Kent farm.

Chapter Text

The Tractor at the end of the pasture

The bright and early Kansas sun was already throwing lines of its light across Jon's floorboards when he woke up, the combined sounds of a roosters crow and Krypto's bark providing a very enthusiastic choir that gave him the strength to roll out of bed and shuffle over to the window, the view of golden pastures filled with wheat stretching out over the land. Looking back towards the comfort of his bed, Jon ultimately decided against it (with the help of Krypto scrabbling at the door) and dawdled slowly downstairs, taking as much time as possible; He could already hear everyone else up and moving within the household, and he wasn't interested in getting a knowing look from his mother that said 'You wouldn't be up so late if you just went to bed earlier.'

Entering the kitchen, a soft breeze from an open window behind the sink woke him up a little bit more. He looked around, seeing his mother, both of his grandparents, but no father. Ha! He's the one who stayed up late and slept in, I win!, Jon thought proudly to himself as he took a seat at the kitchen island, grinning smugly at his mother who just furrowed her eyebrows and poked his arm with her elbow.

"What's with the smirking, young man?"

Jon chuckled to himself, replying complacently.

"Well, what do you think? You're always telling me to wake up earlier, and here I am, up earlier than dad!"

Lois simply smiled, and Ma Kent turned around from where she was stirring scrambled eggs to raise her eyebrows at him.

"He's already in the fields, dearie. Out with Bessie and the lot."

She gestured out of the window, out to a green field not too far away from the house where Jon could clearly see his father, sitting on a stool and milking a cow. Great. Just great. Now I look like an idiot.... Jon hung his head sheepishly and accepted the plate of scrambled eggs Ma Kent slid over to him. Oh well. If he couldn't be up as early as his dad, so what? At least he came downstairs before midday. His parents should be grateful!

Out in the green grass of the pasture, Clark whistled merrily as he milked the old cows Ma and Pa Kent owned. They all had names, written neatly on their ear tags. He glanced up at the one he was currently milking; Clarabelle. Hm. Well, hello, Clarabelle. He thought to himself, looking back down. She was the last one, and the pail was almost full - he'd been out since the early morning, perhaps even since the birds had started their early-morning conversations and the nocturnal crickets had given leeway to the cicadas and their hum. The constant noise was comforting, yet a little grating; Like tinnitus, but... with insects.

Sighing, he stood up, knocking over the stool in the process. Although he'd made himself clumsy to keep up the pretense of Clark Kent (Dorky farm boy turned journalist from the Midwest), it slowly got ingrained into him until he was knocking over things constantly. It was just luck that fate had chosen the stool and not the bucket to be tipped over - or Ma Kent would've given him a what for when he came back. He hovered up above the ground, starting his slow float back so as to not spill a drop of the milk he'd painstakingly collected. He glanced around him as he did so, noticing the rabbits in the field over the way, the swallows dipping up and down through wire fences, and the cows lumbering back to their usual spot under the shade of the large walnut tree sitting in the corner of the field. He turned back to the farmhouse, dropping onto the gravel path and making his way up the side steps into the kitchen. 

Looking up from his eggs, Jon gave his father a very unbecoming scowl - one that simply got a raised eyebrow and a small upturned quirk of his fathers mouth before he turned away. A failed mission at angering his father, Jon quickly swallowed the last part of his eggs, and jumped out of his seat, clattering the cutlery against the plate as he did so.

"Ma!"

Ma Kent turned around, fixing her gaze on the determined little boy. Determined for what, she couldn't imagine. More eggs, maybe? She brought the pan over to scrape him the last few bits, but he shied away and pulled his plate closer to himself.

"No,- um. No, Thank you, Ma. I just wanted to know if you needed any help on the farm. I'm very good at doing jobs, and you must have a lot."

Jon straightened up, putting his hands on his hips with a grin. This would prove his father that he wasn't the only hard worker! He can be a good farmhand too-

"Oh, thank you Jon, but i'm not sure we can trust you with any of the jobs yet, dearie. You don't even know the layout of this place yet!"

Jon dropped his shoulders, sighing and sitting back down. He grabbed the pan and scraped the rest of the eggs onto his plate, sticking his tongue out at nobody in particular. Stupid dad! Being born and raised on this farm so he can go and do whatever stupid jobs he wants without having to hear a stupid tutorial first!

As if his father could read his thoughts, he settled in beside Jon, nudging his shoulder with his and wiggling his eyebrows.

"What's with the frown, kiddo?"

Jon shrugs, more than a bit sheepish. It was hard to stay angry at his father - he was a total lamb, innocent and afraid of the bad in the world. Of course, he wasn't that afraid of the bad, as he fought it almost every day in his primary colored trunks. But when it came to nasty looks and secret animosity, he was far too easy of a target. Jon stands up from the table, putting his dishes in the sink and going out to toss a ball around with Krypto. If he couldn't be helpful, he could have some fun. 

Clark Kent was a restless man. He lived by the motto of 'there's always more to do' and there always was. Endless new stories to cover, unrelenting criminals to catch, and a continuous stream of farm work to do. He knows he said it was his version of rest time; but did he really have to move this tractor all the way across the field? If it was up to him, why not just leave it? It was a great spot for doe to leave their babies while they explored, and a shady spot for calves to rest if that was their field rotation for the week. But, according to Pa Kent, it was an 'eyesore' due to the rust and chipped paint, and so it had to be moved. 

Coming closer to the tractor, he hovered just shy of the tips of the dry grass around him, making sure that he didn't spook anything under there. He gave the tractor and its surrounding area a quick once-over with his X-Ray vision, scanning for any small animals he might've missed. When nothing came up, he dropped down and walked over, inspecting the hunk of metal. It didn't look too shabby, but it definitely wasn't up to a working grade. He jumped in the seat, grabbing the steering wheel. Spinning it from side to side and fiddling with the gear shifts, he couldn't help but imagine he wasn't in the field, but rather a track, racing alongside the likes of Oscar Piastri and Liam Lawson. 

Realizing that if Pa looked over the hill and saw him playing with the tractor instead of moving it he'd probably miss out on supper, Clark jumped down from the seat with a quick glance over at the chicken houses, making sure that Pa hadn't seen anything. Turning back to the tractor, he evaluated it, trying to figure out which way to hold it so he could lift it. By the wheels? No... that'd be hard, and besides - he hasn't got four hands. By the seat and steering wheel? Hmm... Might be unstable, and they could pop off while he's halfway across the field. Clark walks around the tractor, deciding to just grab it by the back, holding onto the towing hitch with two hands as he started to lift off of the ground. 

Slowly, the tractor hovered, the front wheels eventually clearing the ground and he was floating midair, looking around to see where he should put it. Starting to move towards a shady spot in the back corner of the field, he grunted as he lifted the tractor higher. Pa Kent had had this tractor for years, it was one of the first things he lifted when he discovered his powers, so why did it feel so heavy now? And why was it swaying? Was he off balance? Clark frowned as he paused, looking down at the tractor. It went still, acting as if it wasn't just wiggling around. Hm. Must've been a bout of wind pushing it slightly, I suppose. He continued his flight across the grass, but once again was stopped by the tractor moving. He glanced a nearby tree; its leaves were swaying slightly. But not enough to warrant an entire tractor swaying in the wind. 

Clark started to lower the tractor, deciding he'd have to check out what was wrong for himself. As he got back down to the ground, the tractor suddenly swung itself up and over his head, making him lose grip of the hitch as his arm twisted. He looked up with a frown as it came plummeting back down, landing on top of him heavily. Ouch; that was going to hurt later... no, not later, now! Clark tried to squirm out from under the vehicle, but it started to wriggle around on top of him, almost as if it was changing its mechanics. With a grunt of super strength, Clark managed to toss it off of him. What the heck?

The tractor never even moved when he was a little kid, why was it... fighting him? Clark racked his brain for an explanation; but one presented itself rather quickly. The tractor started to shift, changing and melting underneath his very fingers. It changed form, gaining horns and a tail, six eyes locking onto his form beneath its claws. What the h.e.double-hockey-sticks was going on? Clark took a step back, assessing the alien with a careful eye. He thought back to his several enclosures within his alien zoo, running through the species within them quickly. Last he remembered, he'd locked all the doors and bolted the windows (metaphorically - the fortress of solitude, being made of sunstone crystals and all, didn't have much windows.), and ensured that no creature could escape and wreak havoc on the public. It didn't resemble anything he remembered, and its scales had dust and cobwebs in between them. It seemed to have been in a great big slumber; a shapeshifting alien, settling down as a run-down tractor in the corner of a field, once the actual tractor had been sent off to the garbage heap. 

It was a good plan for an alien to make, a well thought out decision that had ensured its rest for maybe twenty-odd years. But, all good things must come to an end, and the meddling Clark Kent had been sent to awake it. It roared, though the sound lacked any conviction; it was creaky and old, like its vocal chords hadn't been in use for a long time and had begun to gather dust. The sound shook off the dust bunnies within its throat and it coughed them up, letting them land right onto Clark's face. Yeuch. Clark shook them off, putting his hands on his hips and giving the alien a firm look. Just what am I going to do with you? He thought to himself, shifting his weight from leg to leg. I suppose I could send you back to space, but you don't seem very dangerous.... just sleepy. Clark stepped closer, slowly and steadily so as to not startle it any further. He spoke lowly, the same kind of i'm-not-here-to-hurt-you tone you'd use for a hissy cat or a bird thats flown into a window. 

Pa Kent wasn't an impatient man; he was rather the opposite, in fact. Legend says he could genuinely watch paint dry, he was that patient. But God, couldn't his son use at least a little speed? The man was a Super, for gods sake! Sighing, Pa Kent sat down in his rocking chair nestled under the awning on the front porch and sipped his milky coffee. Usually he'd just have it black, but it was the afternoon, and he didn't need that much energy to get him through the remaining few hours of the day. He'd been waiting since the middle of the day for Clark, and now the sun was making its way back home along the horizon. The boy had never been tardy back when he was still a young farmhand, but it seems that the city had given him enough naivety even the devil would be jealous. Pa Kent rocked slowly back and forth, the chair creaking lightly.

Back in the pasture, Clark was coaxing the creature towards himself, one arm outstretched and the other carefully laying at his side; he didn't want the alien to think he was planning something, and run away before he could relocate it... Clark looked back down at the small crystal remote in his hand. Clark Kent might be clumsy and forgetful, but Kal-El always came prepared. Once he got close enough, he could send the alien to the Phantom Zone, where it could remain safe and sound, sleeping blissfully for the rest of time. Wasn't that hard, right? Well, the only problem was it wasn't going to go down without a fight. Like a toddler who'd been woken up from their midday nap, the alien was cranky and unafraid to take a swipe at him. 

The creature leapt away from him, crashing perilously close to the fence at the edge of the field. Clark cringed; if it broke the fence, he'd have to spend a couple hours refitting it all, and that's not how he wanted to spend his afternoon straight after fighting an alien. But there wasn't time to think about that now; the alien was scrabbling away from him, and running a course straight towards the farmhouse! Clark flew after it, putting the remote in his pocket briefly to fly around to the monsters' left side - herding it just a smidge to the right so that it would run past the house instead of through it. He glanced over at Pa Kent sitting on his rocking chair in the front porch; the man was watching him carefully, still rocking in his chair and nursing his coffee, making sure his truck didn't get scratched by the creatures' long, scaly tail. Good old dad, Clark thought, Always thinking of the truck instead of the monumental inter-galactic threat right in front of him. 

Clark reached out and grabbed the aliens back leg, holding on with an iron grip as it thrashed and bucked. He got out the remote from his pocket and aimed it at the alien, then pressed a few buttons. Soon enough, a large portal materialized, the force of it sucking in the creature without much difficulty. It protested and tried to claw its way out, but it wasn't strong enough and it soon was gone, the only thing left a large crater in the driveway from its large paws digging into the ground. Clark lowered himself down, putting his hands on his hips and sighing. No doubt i'll be the one filling this in.

This whole 'rest week' was proving to be not very restful at all.

Chapter Text

What will You have after 500 years?

Clark was a big man. He was strong, he was brave, he was the kind of guy that women would subconsciously stick around in subways because he looked safe. And he was fine with that. More than fine, actually. He was proud of it. He'd spent his whole life curating that kind of image, projecting himself as a big blaring help sign, always ready to lend a hand, no matter who asked for it. But even the bravest men have their fears. The small, imperceptible things that get under their feet and make them stumble every now and then. For some, it was spiders. For others, clowns. But they shared those fears with millions of others around the world; It wasn't a unique experience, and that thought alone could bring those people comfort and help them get over it. Because they were human after all, no matter how intimidating they were. 

And maybe that was Clarks' biggest fear. Maybe that was his achilles heel, the thing that made him pause and stutter. Being human. Because, at the end of the day, when the house was all quiet, and the lights were off and the only sound was the beating of his heart and the slow, steady breathing in and out of his lungs, Clark knew it was all a lie. The job, the persona, the name... even the human biology he pretended to have was a lie. He didn't need to eat, nor drink, nor sleep. In fact, under a yellow sun, he didn't even need to breath. He was just an alien who happened to be in the shape of a human, walking around and following human customs like a broken record. He had to teach himself to blink manually until it was subconscious just like everybody else. He had to pretend to be hungry, and eat like everyone else, when he was already full from the light of the sun. He had to pretend to be human. 

He knew he was going to live longer than everybody else. It was just factual; under a yellow sun, he would live for thousands upon thousands of years, and witness the rise and fall of kingdoms, empires, countries.... it was endless. And he hated it. He'd pushed it down, squashed it into a place in his mind reserved for anything that fell out of the optimistic ordinary he operated on. Because Superman didn't dwell on the negatives, Superman thrived on the positives. And thinking about the inevitable possibility that he was going to watch everyone he ever cared about stumble into the arms of death wasn't positive in the slightest. Because, truthfully, it made him feel scared. Not scared in fear, per say, but more... boyish. A kiddie kind of fear, one that makes you feel small again, and makes you wish your mama would come and shield you from the dark.

When Clark got into a fearful mindset, he pushed it away. He threw himself into mindless work, the kind of numbing tasks that made you feel as though you were melting your brain in a slow cooker. Because, if he couldn't stop thinking about bad things, it was better to not think at all. And so, here he was, filling in the hole in his parents' driveway with gravel. It was tedious work. His son had asked to help him, but he'd pushed him away. He didn't want Jon to be near him; It hurt to even look the boy in the eye. Sure, he was half-super, with half the DNA and powers, but he'd also live half the life Clark would. Jon would live to see all he loved die, and yet wouldn't surpass his father. Clark would be destined to see his little boys life play out day by day, and never once get the chance to die with him.

There was always the option of doing the deed himself. Replacing death as his own. But the people of earth needed him, whether he liked it or not - the day he'd die would be the day he wasn't needed. And unfortunately for him, that day wasn't going to be coming any time soon. So, for the moment, it seemed like he'd be stuck filling in holes in driveways with stones. 

Pa Kent knew he didn't have much longer. Ma Kent knew that too. They'd both heard the way their joints cracked when they stood up and seen the wrinkles gracing their faces. Ma had recently had more trouble getting up and down the stairs. Pa had found it harder and harder to keep making his rounds to the chicken coop. They'd come to terms with it long before it started getting bad; because everyone had to accept it at some point. Time didn't stop for anyone - either you hop along for the ride, or you watch as it passes you by. Every time the grandfather clock in the hall rang its lonely tone, it sang a reminder that another hour had passed, and you would never get it back. It kept them going, that grandfather clock. A simple reminder that you must spend every minute wisely, because you can never get them back. You may think you have gained time back, but all you've done is taken more away to replace the gap. 

After the whole situation with the alien, Pa Kent had realized that maybe he just wasn't all that cut out for the farm life anymore. The farm house was getting too big to keep clean, the animals too hard to take care of all the time, and the sheer amount of land was becoming too difficult to upkeep. The Kent farm was diminishing like a candle, burning too fast for Ma and Pa to keep up with. They'd had a good run, had their foot in the door for some 40-odd years. The farm life was wonderful, but they couldn't keep telling themselves that it was the right life for them. 

Ma and Pa Kent had been together for years. They'd seen the ups and downs of life together, always together. So when Ma Kent had come back from the doctors with a less-than-hopeful diagnosis of cataracts, Pa wasn't worried. Ma Kent knew this old farmhouse like the back of her hand. Perhaps even better, considering nobody ever looks at the back of their hand very often, yet you're always looking at your surroundings. Pa wasn't worried about the diagnosis itself, but rather the issues that arose with it. How was Clark going to take this information? How would their lives change once this whole situation really set in? And..... how long would it take before Pa Kent eventually developed something too?

Age isn't forgiving. She's stingy and prickly, and hates your guts for living. When you've overstayed your welcome, she starts to treat you worse, sending subtle signs that your time is up. Age likes you to draw yourself out, becoming frail and thin, so she can watch you dwindle like a thinning flame on a short wick. She'll listen as you beg for a bit more, Just another minute, and yet she won't spare a second. Some people believe that Death is the larger evil. But Death is only the messenger; Age is the prosecutor, and Time is the king signing the letters. You can't judge Death much, all they're doing is following their orders. Really, you should hate Time. You should despise it. Waste it, gamble it away, spend your precious minutes doing much ado about nothing, so that when you meet the man face to face, you can tell him you didn't care much for him at all; you can smile as his face goes red and he scowls, because he's oh-so-used to being the center of attention. It's all you hear nowadays. Spend your time wisely, or you'll regret it.

But when you have so much time to spend, will you really ever regret it? When you're a man like Clark Kent, who'll live for thousands of years and not age a bit, will you actually regret anything at all? Bruce had once made a guesstimate of how long Clark would live. '15,000 years' he'd said in that low voice of his, as if that number wasn't daunting in the slightest. 15,000 years. And no idea how to spend it all. It was dizzying, thinking about what he could accomplish with that amount of time. Who he could be, what he could do, the world he could slowly shape bit by bit. He could be a king, a dictator, a peasant, all within a Millenia. Or, of course, he could just be Clark Kent. Clumsy, dorky reporter, family man, and kind soul. Someone who blended into the background perfectly, like a stick bug blends into a tree. Just stay still, and nobody will even notice you're there. It was a good plan; one that he had stuck to for his entire life so far. It'd gotten him enough in life - a stable job, a wife, a child, nice friends that he could let loose with a little. The kind of life that was flexible enough so that he could still shed the suit and tie for a cape and trunks if the circumstances called for it.

It wasn't the kind of life that he could continue living for thousands of years, however. One day, Clark would have to take a good hard look in the mirror and decide what he was going to do with his life now that his family was gone. He'd have to lead the Justice League with less of its original members - Clark didn't have a clue as to how he'd get around being a hero without Bruce, but he'd have to cross that bridge when he came to it -, and he'd have to watch as slowly but surely, the world he once knew would advance and leave him behind.

Clark Kent was a big man. He was burly like a bear, yet kind and soft like a stuffy. He wasn't scared of much, but he was scared of one thing. Time. He knew his mother and father didn't have much time left. He'd made sure Jon also understood that. He wasn't going to sugarcoat it to the boy, he deserved to be prepared for the day they'd wake up to the news that they just weren't there anymore. Losing someone was hard. Being an alien with an impossibly long lifespan was harder; the amount of funerals he'd inevitably go to was a number he preferred not to think about. But every time he felt the weight of another loss pushing down on him, every time someone came to the end of their thread and reminded him that he wasn't human all the way, the grief also reminded him of something else. Even if someones life was lost, their memories weren't. Being human isn't just about looking a certain way or acting a certain way, nor is it about having the right biology. Being human means more than existing. Being human means living, and god, did Clark live. He could waste a hundred years for all he cared. But he doesn't. And that's what helps him stay human. By being present, by spending every moment with care and with a smile on his face, he brings himself closer and closer to owning the title of Homo Sapiens.

Because Time won't slow down for anybody. But you can catch up.