[ CLOSED ]

[supersweet]

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. ]

Comments

[unmakeme]

"This is me, kiddo. I'm just saying what I'm thinking." Natasha finds most of a gallon of milk in the fridge, and while there is no hot cocoa mix in any of the cupboards she checks, there is a jar on the counter that has chocolate bars in it. Good chocolate, high enough cocoa butter content to work, and no wax to bulk them out. Perfect. "Hot chocolate is a go," she says, holding one of them up before setting it on the counter and searching for a knife and a cutting board. "Would you put some milk in a pot on the stove and start heating it up?"

[supersweet]

[ Jon opens his mouth to protest, but he realizes that she's not lying so he closes it awkwardly as he trails behind her, trying to ease himself into her momentum. When she asks him to find the milk, Jon's brain kicks into autodrive, used to performing simple tasks around the kitchen for his mother. He's terrible at making his own food, but he knew how to help and carry out instructions. ]

It's ready.

[ A beat. ]

So you're really . . . staying?

[unmakeme]

Natasha has been brutal on that chocolate bar with a knife from the drawer. She's good with knives. It's basically a powder at this point, and she comes over to dump it into the milk, whisk in hand to keep it from burning. She has learned that lesson the hard way, more than once.

"Really. Yes."

She can't blame him for not understanding. It's an odd thing. She doesn't know him, and he doesn't know why she's offering. So she turns down the heat on the milk and gives Jon her full attention. "All right. Here's the deal. I'm a very good liar. Exceptional, really. But I won't lie to you. On two conditions." She holds up one finger. "One, things I talk about with you, you don't talk about with other people. Even if you don't think it's important. Just because I'm being honest with you doesn't mean I would do that with everyone." A second finger joins it. "Two, if I'm not going to lie to you, then you have to respect when I say I don't want to talk about something. Being honest isn't the same thing as being an open book, and I'm definitely not an open book." She cocks her head at him, and holds out her hand to shake. "Deal?"

[supersweet]

[ Jon mulls this over with an uncanny somber expression. None of those terms seem unreasonable. It's not as though Jon doesn't have his own secrets that he keeps close. He certainly hasn't told anyone except maybe Dick the full truth about anything. Jon may not be fond of lying, but he understands the necessity of it. Finally he takes her hand, shaking it firmly. ]

Deal. I get having your own secrets.

[unmakeme]

He gets it, he's just not good at it. Yet. They will work on it.

She smiles as he shakes her hand. "Good." When he lets go of her hand, she turns back to the stove and dips a spoon into the pot of hot chocolate to test it. She'd turned down the heat in order to talk to him, but it's hot enough now. Maybe not perfect, could be a bit too sweet. Maybe she shouldn't have used as much chocolate. Still, it's good, and the point is to be comforting. "All right, I think we're good here. You said something about taco cookies?" She's pulling a couple of mugs from the cupboard, and pouring the chocolate into them over the sink.

[supersweet]

Not taco. Taako.

[ He stresses on the name to the best of his ability. ]

He's my dad's best friend. He's a really good cook. He got me cookies the last time I was . . . kind of sad.

[ "Kind of sad" is a tactful way of saying "I remembered hurting my family and friends while being mind-controlled. Also I saw the future and everything was on fire." It's probably one of the few secrets Jon can't recount very well. He tried initially, when his feelings and memories were a blur of pain and fear. Now most of that has tapered off, but it has left a wound. ]

[unmakeme]

"All right. Taako cookies," she says, putting the same emphasis and inflection on it that he just did. "Cookies and hot chocolate. We'll find a silly movie. Come on. Chop chop." She's not going to let him dwell on the last time he was sad any more than she's going to let him dwell on being sad now. She doesn't want him to forget it or get over it, she knows it doesn't work that way, but you don't have to shine a spotlight on pain. It's always there, waiting for you, no matter how much real estate you give it in your active thoughts.

She ruffles his hair as she passes by him to get mugs. Maybe he'll know what she means - that she's here for him, that setting sadness aside doesn't mean you're being disloyal to memories, that he's never going to be alone. Maybe he won't. Either way, she's as kind and gentle with him as she knows how to be, the same way she is with her own niece and nephews.