riverviewlogs | [ CLOSED ]

Entry tags:

[ CLOSED ]

who: Jon's CR + anyone who knew Clark Kent
what: Reaction to Clark's departure
when: 10th of August
where: The Superfam House
warnings: sads?? sads.

[ Jon didn't know what to do. Every action feels robotic. He sent out what texts he could about his father's departure from his phone and checking his father's contacts. He didn't bother checking for the replies. It buzzed quietly in a corner and it wall he could do to melt it down. He must have cried for hours when he found his father's letter, holding onto Annora until she protested his strong grip. After the sadness, the fear had finally sunken in. He was alone. There were no contingency plans, no promises he could follow. He didn't know what to do.

What about the house? Was Jon meant to protect it? Would Miss Jones take it away now that his father had left? He didn't want to leave. He couldn't leave. He curls up tighter with his blanket, trying to block out all the fears and doubts that plague his mind. Everything was so uncertain and Jon . . . Jon was scared. He didn't know how to stop. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ He chews on his lip, unsure. Miss Nat was one of his dad's friends, which meant a certain amount of trust was automatically given. Jon had liked her too. And he was hungry. His hand lingers over his stomach as Jon weighs his options and opens the door for her politely. ]

Thanks. I was gonna order something.

[ He glances at the house. The emptiness of it almost brings fresh tears in his eyes which he valiantly tries to blink away. ]

Uhm, do you want some water? A drink? I think we still have drinks.

Natasha doesn't need an ounce of her skill to tell what Jon is thinking. Kid's an open book, and the story currently on those pages is nothing but pain. "Water would be nice. Maybe you should drink some, too. We don't want you to dehydrate." Natasha steps inside and closes the door behind her. She wants to tell him that he can cry if he needs to, but she's not sure if that will help or hurt. Cooper's face in her mind again, trying to keep things bottled up, trying to be brave. Damnit.

"Shoes on or off?" It shouldn't matter, doesn't really, but that's not the point. It's a simple thing that he'll have the answer to. It's one problem, tiny and presented in the moment, that he can solve. Does she keep her shoes on, or leave them by the door? What's the house rule? Because it is his house, even if his father doesn't live in it any longer. It doesn't just become empty and meaningless. It's still his.

Though that subject also will require some working through. She consoles herself again with the knowledge that a nice, friendly guy like Clark had to have a ton of friends. It'll be fine.

Shoes are off.

[ They're an outdoorsy family. With all the muck and grime his dad and Jon bring into the house, Lois has a very clear "no shoes" in the house policy. His other dad hadn't discussed it but the habit was drilled into Jon at any early age. Politely, Jon heads into the kitchen and brings back two tall glasses of water. He hands it over to Natasha while he holds onto his own, taking a quiet sip. ]

I'm not crying that much. Dad — He had important stuff to do.

In response to it being a shoes off house, Natasha lifts each foot up behind her in turn so that she can tug down the zippers of her boots, then she wiggles her feet out of them and leaves them near the door. While Jon is gone, she shrugs out of her jacket and leaves that by the door, too.

"There's nothing wrong with crying," she tells him, taking the glass of water, and then taking a sip. "Thanks." She wishes she were better at things like this, wishes she had Laura's instinct to nurture. "You're important, too. He's your dad. You miss him." It's in the way he talks, the pattern and timing of his speech. It's familiar. She doesn't forget things like that. Still, it's not her primary concern. Not when he's looking at her with those big eyes a knife's edge from tears again. "And you should eat." She nods her head, settling a question that hasn't been asked. "Living room? Someplace comfy. You'll feel a little better when you eat." Not much, but a little.

[ Jon points out the living room. It had a large circular table. His mother had a poker night in there. She thought he was asleep, but he could hear her. Though he was good enough not to listen in on their conversations. But Jon isn't old enough to tune out all ambient sounds and his powers still tend to fluctuate.

Honestly, he's a little surprised the house is still standing. He's not prone to tantrums, but his powers have always behaved erratically when his moods were low. Jon pulls up a chair, placing his glass on the table. He watches the liquid quiver, preferring to look anywhere except Natasha's face. ]

'M not a baby. I know he wouldn't leave unless he had to. My dad helps people. That has to come first sometimes.

"I never said you were. You're, what? Eleven? Twelve?" She doesn't mind that he won't look at her. He's hurting, and he doesn't know her well, and if anyone understands it being difficult to trust someone with your emotions, it's Natasha. So she just sets the food out, a pile of burgers, two extra large things of fries, a second bag within the first one full of fried pies. She over-ordered, but it was intentional. The fries won't reheat well, but whatever else ends up left over will.

She picks up one of the burgers, and sinks into a chair at the table, her heel resting on the seat. Jon still won't look at her, and she peels the paper back slowly, taking a bite as her free arm wraps around her bent leg. "Come on. Eat something. The red check marks have cheese on them." She is not going to stop until he puts some food in his mouth. Cooper forgets to eat when he's upset. She's gotten pretty good at pestering him into it without making him feel worse.

Also, Clark is a reporter, as far as Natasha knows. Which, again, something about the conversation is not quite right. An idea is beginning to form, though. "For the record? I think that you sound like a very well adjusted young man who realizes that the right thing isn't always easy. I think your father would be very proud of that."

Ten.

[ His tone is mildly sulky. His age can feel like a sore point at times. Jon doesn't boast about his powers or even consider himself better than most, but he's been through enough that he gets a little petulant when it comes to his experiences. Jon reaches for the fries and burgers politely, adding some ketchup on them. He chews slowly and politely before he addresses Natasha once more. ]

And I guess? We've talked about it before. How being away doesn't mean it's about me, it's just how things are.

"Ten," she repeats, taking a bite of her burger. They're good, the restaurant she picked them up from sort of half way between fast food and a proper sit down place. She's pretty sure Jon's lack of enthusiasm has nothing to do with the food. She's just glad he's eating, even though he's sad. "Well, you seem very mature for your age."

Another bite, and she chews slowly and thoughtfully. "It's nice that you two are so close. I'm sure that only makes it more difficult to be without him right now, but that's temporary. I think it's good that you and your father talked about that before he went. Not surprising, though. Very level-headed guy, your dad. Did he ever talk about me?" Again she'd be shocked if that were the case but she tosses out the question as nonchalantly as you please.

My dad makes a lot of friends. And he talks about them a lot.

[ He didn't mention Natasha, but that's not a failing on her part. And Jon wasn't going to pry. His father mentioned relationships only when he thought it was important for Jon to know who to go to, who to trust. They may not live like the Waynes, with their batcave and secret personas, but they still kept a secret. ]

But I'm sure he liked you! You seem smart. And cool.

[ His father had a type after all. ]

Jon doesn't come out and say it, so Natasha presses a little more. Gently. "Don't worry. I promise, my feelings aren't hurt that your father never talked to you about me. No reason to, really." Which is his opportunity to correct her if she's wrong.

She even reaches out a hand and snakes a couple of fries, dragging them through the ketchup squeezed out on the cardboard. Like it's already forgotten. Like it doesn't matter. It does, of course, but not for the obvious reason.

[ Jon frowns awkwardly, feeling bad on her behalf. Jon didn't really keep track of what his dad did and vice-versa. They just trusted each other. They had their promises and they knew what rules to follow. It was almost instinctive, the routines they fell into. Maybe he should have tried harder . . . gotten to know his other father better.

But there's no point thinking like that. Jon also knew who Superman was. ]

You can be a little mad . . . ? If you want.

[ He sighs, poking at his fries. ]

This dad was less over — [ He stumbles over the word. ] — overprotective. But he was still, y'know, my dad. I kind of wish he had some kind of plan though. For . . . now.

[ Every plan the Kents made. Safety measures, signals, call signs . . . it was all under the assumption that one of them would be there with Jon. Now he's completely alone. Manchester Black's face looms into view and Jon can't fully repress the shiver of fear. ]

Welp, there it is. And considering the number of children she's met in this city, the striking physical similarities, and now that she thinks about it, Clark was a dead ringer, too. She's willing to bet that no one is going to be seeing Superman in the skies any time soon.

That shiver of fear, though. Far more important right now.

"Hey, come on. None of that." She reaches out a hand and lays it on his shoulder, gently but purposefully. "There is a plan. It's my plan. Want to hear it?" She doesn't wait for him to respond before she continues talking. "A sweet kid like you, you're going to have honourary aunts and uncles lining up to take care of you. And if by some miracle you don't, and this would have to be a ridiculous billion to one shot, then I'll do it. At least until everyone else your father knew comes to their senses and figures out how much they want the job."

She is absolutely, without a doubt, completely positive that this is not going to be necessary. In fact, she's a little shocked that someone hasn't already stepped up to fill the role. She was expecting to knock on the door tonight and find people here with him, comforting him and picking up the slack. It's not that she thinks she's going to have to take care of him, it's about making sure he knows that there is no chance he's going to be left on his own. Yes, she's a relative stranger, and yes, she's probably not someone he wants to live with. The point is that he knows that the worst case scenario here still means he's looked after. He's not ending up in whatever passes for the system in this place.

[ Jon frowns lightly. He's not sure how he feels about honourary aunts and uncles. He's never had any before. Still, Jon could see Natasha's point. He has made plenty of friends, many of them far older than Jon. A part of him balks at strangers caring for him but . . . his world is just so much bigger now. ]

No one's that excited to take care of a kid.

"Are you kidding me? Sure they are." She's not even slightly exaggerating. Hell, even she used to get excited at the prospect of going to the farm and taking care of Cooper and Lila for the weekend. She loved spending time with those kids, with that whole family. It was hers.

She knows that's not the kind of thing he's talking about, but she also knows that if she can be that in love with children who aren't biologically related to her, then anyone can do it. "I'll bet you a bag of marshmallows you're going to have more than one person make the offer. You'll have your pick of company." She takes another bite of her burger. "We can eat them on the roof and watch the stars. Like we did before."

All right, maybe pointing out that she knows he's Superboy is not the most sensitive way to take his mind off of things, but she's pretty sure it'll be effective. Besides, the sooner it's out there, the sooner they can accept it and move past it.

[ Jon blinks before his expression goes sheepish. Whoops. He's never been good at keeping his secret and normally, he didn't need to. His social interaction was rather low and it was a herculean effort to keep it up in a closed off place. But his smile slowly unfurls as some of his anxiety melts away. ]

You're on.

What, uh, gave it away?

"Biggest thing?" She snags another fry. "I've never met Jon Kent before tonight, but you recognized me at the door immediately. Which you could have come back from. You had the opportunity to tell me your dad talked about me, maybe described me to you, but you didn't." He seems to have accepted that she knows, so that's good. Makes it all easier, for sure.

He must not be used to keeping this secret. It can't just be about his father being gone, or he'd be more conflicted now. "You also don't do too much to disguise yourself. The accent is the same, you don't alter your speech patterns, you wear your hair very similarly."

She shrugs. "You're not a very good liar." He hasn't tried to lie to her yet, but it's pretty obvious. "We'll have to work on that."

[ Not a good liar. No, he's never been that. He studiously looks at his food, not wanting to make eye contact. Lying is . . . difficult. Jon has never liked lying. He's never liked it when his parents did it and he doesn't like it now. He knew the reasons, knew what the bigger picture entailed but . . . It still sits wrongly with him. After what happened with Manchester Black and Kathy . . . it was too much. ]

A lot of people lied to me. My best friend . . . my neighbour. My teachers, our mayor. They were all lying to me. And I was lying to them. It was — it wasn't right. I know I have to. I know I have to do it better, protect who I am because people will . . . [ Jon trails off, his shoulders drooping. It's too much, sometimes, for a ten year old to live under that kind of paranoia. Juggling a normal life with an alien one. ]

I like to think the people here aren't like that. They can choose to be different.

God, that sad drop off of his little speech and the droop of his shoulders. Fuck it. Natasha sets her burger back on the table, scoots her seat right up next to Jon's, and wraps her arms around him. "Look, a lot of people are good, they will live up to your expectations and affirm your faith in humanity... but you'll never find a group of people who are all good. If it helps, don't think of it as lying. Think of it as playing a part. You are Jon, and Superboy is a role you take on. It's for your own good, and for the people around you. It's how you keep them safe. That's what you want to do, isn't it?"

[ Jon tenses for a split second before he relaxes. Suddenly he really missed his mother. She would have said the same thing. Both Natasha and Lois seem to have that practical nature that makes the world seem clearer. Unconsciously, he curls closer around her. ]

Yeah. If my dad's not here anymore . . . I've got to do it.

"So we're going to work on it." When he melts into her a little, she begins running her hand through his hair. Lila likes it when she does this. It calms the girl down almost immediately when she's upset.

He's some kind of superhuman with a slew of amazing powers and abilities, and sure, that's incredible, but he's also a ten year old boy. "I'll help you. There are tricks to make it easier. You've got to do it, but you don't have to do it alone." Because never mind that this is her second conversation with the kid, he needs someone to look after him in a way she knows she's more than capable of. Not only that, she's pretty sure he won't find anyone better than her. Not for this.

[ Jon nods, resting his head on her shoulder. Her heartbeat is steady. Calming. Jon has learned to trust that. Honing in on heartbeats and the way they work was one of the first things his father ever taught him. It was their safety net. ]

I could use that kind of help.

Probably for the best that Jon doesn't know how thoroughly Natasha could lie to him without her heartbeat tripping up in the slightest. She's being honest now, though thankfully not as vulnerable as the last time she opened up to someone. "Then you'll get it. You need me, I'm here. All right?"

Her hand is still moving slowly and steadily through his hair. "I know you like plans. Here's the plan for tonight. You're going to finish your dinner. Then we're going to bundle you up on the couch. I'm going to find something in your kitchen to make cocoa or tea or some other traditional comforting hot drink, and we're going to watch a movie. I'm going to stay with you until someone else gets here." Then she thinks about that one for a moment. "I'll stay until you want me to go." Who knows? The next person to turn up might be an even worse candidate for looking after a child than she is.

[ Jon lets the words flow into him, slowly sapping away the tension from his body. It was a plan. Something real that he could latch onto for now. Tomorrow might be a scarier day, but things seemed . . . better. Easier. He exhales softly and nods, determination filling back into his eyes. ]

Okay. I can manage that. Let me help too.

"I think that is a great idea," she says with one last squeeze before she sits back, though she does not move her chair away from him. "The first way you can help if by finishing your dinner. Does the whole Superboy thing mean your metabolism runs faster than normal?" She asks because of Steve, because she's seen how much that man can put away. If it does, there might not be any leftovers. "I want you to eat at least until you're physically not hungry any more."

And, because it seems rather hypocritical not to, she picks her burger up again and takes a huge bite. Finishing dinner. It's officially a joint effort before they get him settled and more comfortable. They can talk about everything that comes after, well... after.

[ Jon moves to take a few more bites of his burger. He seems much more at ease, though not at his happiest. At least he does not seem like he will lapse back into a gloomy state. In between chews, he replies. ]

Not really. I don't do as much as my dad, so I don't need to eat as much.

[ His father could eat a lot. Jon has seen him clean out the fridge in minutes. It frustrates his mother to no end. ]

[ CLOSED ]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)