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No matter how many choked off inhales Jon takes, he still can’t get enough oxygen in. He gasps and gapes and he’s choking, he’s choking. He can’t get any air in, he can’t do it. He can’t do anything at all except cry like a dumb little baby. Tears stream down his face. No matter how much he tries to wipe them away, they keep getting replaced with every pathetic sob. Even his mom stopped trying to intervene, having given up after the last time Jon snapped at her to leave him alone. The guilt only makes his tummy more sick feeling, like he has squirmy worms trying to crawl out through his intestines.
He scrubs his face, grimacing at the snot getting wiped across his sleeve. He really should have replaced his tissue box after his last little breakdown, but he was stupid. He actually believed his dad, as if his birthday was something special. As if Jon could ever be more important than stupid ants, or whatever other story his dad’s gotten preoccupied with. He’s such a liar and Jon should have known better. Doing chores together doesn’t mean he’ll actually prioritize him. He’s such a freaking idiot, it’s not like this is the first time he’s broken a promise.
Yet, instead of getting used to the hurt, it only amplifies. Like a ripple in a lake, it grows and grows and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. Maybe the waves will keep growing. Maybe he’ll drown in it.
It’s so childish, caring so much about a birthday, but his dad said. He gave his word!
Jon sobs again, drool dribbling down his chin when he can’t close his mouth between cries. He’s such a baby. If the kids at school saw him like this they’d surely have a thousand new humiliating nicknames to call him. It’s embarrassing enough for his mom to hear his pathetic wailing through the door, calling out as if she could make dad return. Jon should have known, if dad wouldn’t even come back for his wife then why would he come back for his son? He clutches at his blanket, soggy from his tears, and hates how gross he’s making everything.
He keens, wishing more than anything that his dad would just come back, please. Please, please, come back home.
Even if he’s being childish, he knows his dad would never tease him for breaking down. Mom wouldn’t either… but it’s not the same. She’s stuck with him, always the one left taking care of him when dad leaves over and over again. She may have her own fair share of business trips, but she always comes back when she says she will. Even if she has a delay, she always calls and lets him know. Dad couldn’t even be bothered to text, just one sentence to let Jon know he’s thinking about him. Just one word, one acknowledgment. Jon isn’t even left on read, when he’s allowed to use mom’s phone to text him, just outright ignored. Too busy with his stories to talk to his own child.
He wipes at his tears again, hating how each pathetic sob increases the pounding in his head. He whimpers, trying desperately to catch his breath when suddenly everything turns red. He squeals, throwing his head back, only for the red to follow. It looks like those lasers he’s seen on tv, everywhere the bright light goes it leaves blackened char behind. He can’t even close his eyes, the force of the lasers keeping his lids blown wide. He’s gasping, watching as his curtains bursts into flames. He turns, desperately trying to make it stop, only for the lamp on his bedside table to explode, glass shooting through the air.
He feels more so than sees glass pierce his skin, a cut across his cheek, a shard imbedding in his arm. He cries out, too scared to use his hands to cover his eyes. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He just wants it to stop, please. Please, make it stop. He doesn’t wanna ruin anything, he doesn't mean to hurt anyone. But it won’t stop, he doesn’t know how to make it all go away.
“Jonathan?!” He hears his mom call, and he tries to scream, to beg his mama to save him. To make it all go away, but he can’t get the words out past his pained keen. No where he looks is safe, the red spreading fire across the entire room. Trails of ash go across his walls, his door, his toys. Everything burning or shattering. It hurts, his eyes sting more than the worst crying fit he’s ever had. He just wants it all to stop, please. Please, please, make it all go away. He can’t hear his mom anymore, and he can’t breathe. He can’t, he can’t breathe.
He makes the mistake of looking down, his bed immediately bursting into flame. He throws himself off the mattress, crashing to the floor with a wheeze. He lands on something sharp, the pieces piercing his clothes and cutting his skin. He screams, unable to find the words he needs to call for help. For his mommy, for his daddy, for anyone to come save him.
As quickly as the light appeared, it’s gone. Just like that.
He’s finally allowed to blink, the tears streaming down his face unable to soothe the burning of his eyes. He coughs, smoke long since filling the small room. He hacks again, forcing himself to shaky legs.
“Mom?” He calls out, throat more than a little raw. The word scrapes past his teeth, just as agonizing as the rest of his body. He stumbles toward his door, grabbing the door handle just to yank back with a pained whine. He knows better than to touch metal in a fire, it’s like safety 101, but it’s all too much. He can’t think clearly, as if his brain got jostled with the rest of him when he hit the floor. He uses his sleeve to cover his aching hand, throwing open the door even when it burns through the fabric.
Jon finds his mom passed out on the stairs. She tried to get to him. She tried to help him, and whatever the red was, whatever he did, he hurt her. He hurt his mom. He’s bawling, chest heaving with the force of it. He keeps coughing through the smoke, scared to touch her, scared to not. He reaches a hand out and she’s so warm, she’s burning too. When he shifts her he finally gets a good look at the bleeding wound on her head. It’s so much blood. God, it’s so much.
He whimpers, “Mom, Mommy, please, wake up. I dunno if I can carry you.” She’s never not responded to him before. Whether she’s busy or angry, she’s never ignored him. She’s even a light sleeper, always there to soothe away his nightmares before he can even call for her. He shakes her, startling when something crashes from inside his room. She stays limp, too warm.
He can’t wait. She might not wake up in time. Oh god, she might not wake up at all!
Through the tears, he tries to pull her up. He can’t carry her, he’s too weak, but he can drag her. He mentally apologizes as he pulls her down the stairs, her body making horrific thumps with each step. He hopes she can’t feel the pain.
Thankfully, when they get downstairs the fire hasn’t spread there yet, even if the smoke is rapidly pouring in. He barely manages to drag her to the front door, lungs convulsing with each panicked breath. His chest hurts so terribly and he hopes his mom isn’t in the same agony. He never wanted to hurt her. He should have just let her in, let her hug and kiss away the tears. She would have made it all better.
Unless this would have happened anyway. The red inevitable in its destruction. He could have killed her if he looked directly at her with the awful lasers on. Set her ablaze, watched her burn and knowing there’s nothing he could do to stop it.
He could have killed her anyway.
He pulls her down past the porch, collapsing next to her in the grass. He keeps a hand clutching at her arm and she’s so still. Completely and utterly still. She doesn’t move at all, not even when he’s weeping beside her. He doesn’t think he’s ever cried before without his mom at least offering to hug him. He forces himself back up, half draped over her, but she doesn’t look any better than she did inside. With the fire still raging behind him he knows he has to pull her further away, but he’s not strong enough.
He splays a hand over his Mom’s chest but it doesn’t move. Oh no, oh god, no. She’s not breathing. She’s not breathing. He knows there’s something he’s supposed to do. He’s seen it on tv, heroes pressing on the victims chest. But he doesn’t know how and he doesn’t wanna hurt her. Please, he doesn't wanna hurt his mama. He doesn’t know what to do. She’s not breathing, she’s hurting, she’s probably dying.
Oh god, she’s dead. That’s what it means, when someone’s not breathing. He killed her. He did this to her, with those scary red lasers, he killed her.
Jon is crying over his mom’s chest when he remembers her phone. Thankfully he’s memorized her password, despite his mom not approving of him knowing. Not allowing hesitation, he calls his dad. He puts the phone on speaker, squeezing his mom’s hand in his, wishing beyond anything that she would squeeze back. It rings, and rings, and rings-
And he doesn’t pick up.
He sobs, wanting to curse him out for ignoring him, for not being here when he needs him. When mom needs him. He doesn’t dial again, not knowing how much time his mom has before she’s really truly gone. He knows sometimes people can be brought back. Even if Jon doesn’t know how, someone does. Someone has to save her. Even if he gets in trouble, gets arrested or punished for hurting her, he needs help. He dials 911.
Unlike his dad, they pick up right away. Jon doesn’t wait for the lady to finish her introduction before he’s blurting out-
“I killed my mommy.”
The lady on the other end hardly hesitates, “okay. Can you tell me what happened? Where are you?”
His voice is all watery and warbled, barely intelligible and he hopes she can understand. He needs her to understand. “It’s all my fault! I hurt her, she’s not breathing. I dunno what to do, I dunno how to help her. Help, please, please, I can’t lose my mom.”
To her credit, the lady stays calm. “I am sending people to help you right now, I just need to know where you are.”
“Home, Kent Farm.” He rattles off the address before choking out, “I called my dad and he didn’t pick up.” It comes out as a confession, all tears and snot.
“Okay, thank you for telling me, I am dispatching help right now. Can you tell me your name? I won’t hang up until the paramedics arrive, okay? You’re not alone.”
But he is. He is. His mama is dead on the ground and he can’t do anything but cry over her. He can’t help her. His dad is gonna be so upset. Oh god, he’s gonna hate him. His daddy is gonna hate him. As soon as the police arrive, they’re gonna have to arrest him for murder. He’s an awful son, such a bad boy. They're gonna lock him up for killing his mom and he deserves it. He deserves the punishment.
But Jon is a coward. He doesn’t wanna be arrested. He just wants his mom back. They’ll take her away though. Bring her wherever dead bodies go. They’re gonna take her away and he’ll never see her again. He won’t see anyone again. His dad won’t see him in prison, not after what he did.
He doesn’t even know what he did though. What if it happens again? What if when those paramedics come he hurts them too? They won’t be able to help his mom if he kills them too.
He’s a monster.
He can’t stay here, not when he’s a danger to anyone who tries to help. That’s all his mommy wanted to do, she just wanted to help him, and he killed her for it. He’s no better than those bad guys Batman and Superman stop.
He can’t stay.
“-id? Kiddo, can you hear me? The ambulance is almost there. I need you to say something so I know you can hear me.”
Oh no, he’s almost out of time. He’ll hurt them if they come. He’ll kill them all.
“‘m sorry,” he blubbers. “Mommy, ‘m so sorry.” He leans forward, presses a kiss to her forehead, just like she did for him that morning. “I love you.”
He forces himself to his feet, whispering another apology to the lady on the phone. She’s nice, she shouldn’t have to deal with a monster like him.
Jon leaves the phone beside his mom and runs. He goes as fast as he can. He knows the fields better than anyone. Even if the police try to find him, he can lose them. He can’t risk hurting them too.
He runs, stumbles, keeps going. He ignores the bleeding on his face and arm, knowing he deserves that and worse after what he did. He keeps moving, only this time, when he trips, he doesn’t hit the ground. He flounders, body inexplicably floating above the dirt for a few terrifying seconds before he crashes back into the ground. There’s no time to figure out what is happening before he keeps going. Every few yards it’s as if his feet are fighting gravity, before he feels his full weight under him again.
He keeps going, until he loses himself to another coughing fit and stumbles. This time his momentum makes him crash and roll, scraping his body even worse with the hit. He groans, unable to properly wipe away his tears with how dirty his hands are. All he’ll do is make it worse. He just makes it all worse.
He doesn’t know how long he runs until he’s nearing the edge of their land, towards the neighbors territory. He keeps going until his legs are trembling too terribly to keep going. He drops down amongst the corn stalks, the rough leaves scratching at his skin. He’ll get a rash if the stalks keep itching his arms, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters.
He sobs and wails and screams and knows there’s no one to hear him.
He’s not sure how long he’s sitting there before someone calls out, “Jonathan.”
“No,” he whines. He can’t be a monster and be going crazy. That’s too much. It’s all too much. He buries his head in his knees and weeps.
“Jonathan, I’m here, son. I’ve got you.”
That’s not a hallucination. He covers his eyes with both hands, keeps his lids shut as tight as he can. “No! Dad, go away! I’ll hurt you, just like Mom. I’ll- god, I’ll kill you.”
His tone remains even, a steady comfort that he no longer deserves. “Jonathan, no, you didn’t kill anyone.” He hears his dad step closer, his voice a soothing cadence. “Your mom is alive, and she’s going to be okay.”
“No!” he sobs, wishing he could see his expression. Wishing so badly that he could look and know what his dad actually feels. “You’re lying. She’s dead, she wasn’t breathing. She’s gone, and I did that. I hurt her.” He can’t catch his breath, gasping against his knees as if curling up tighter will grant him any more oxygen. He can’t do it, he can’t, and he can’t help but flinch when he hears his dad sit down beside him.
Dad doesn’t get louder, doesn’t get mean, simply says, “The paramedics were able to help her. She’s at the hospital now, waiting for you.” It’s too good to be true. He saw the blood, how still her body was, how still her chest was. She was dead, he was sure. But if somehow she survived, that doesn’t change what Jon did.
“I hurt her.”
He hears his dad take an audible breath. “It was an accident. We both know it wasn’t your fault. You did the right thing calling 911.”
“I called you!” The words burst out before he can stop himself. He’s shaking all over, doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop.
There’s a shift but his dad doesn’t reach out, doesn’t touch. He doesn’t deserve it. “I am so sorry I didn’t pick up.” He sounds regretful but it’s hard to know for sure without looking. But he can’t risk it. His mama might be alive but he can’t risk hurting his dad too. He might not survive it. “I will never forgive myself for not answering the phone.”
“Where have you been?” He sobs out, raw and more than a little desperate. He’s bursting at the seams, like one of those teddy bears you fill at the mall. His stitching is too loose, unable to contain all the filling. He’s going to spill out, all over the dirt and the leaves, right in front of his daddy.
He sighs again, not an angry sound but so very tired. Jon can’t stop crying. “Jonathan, can you please look at me?”
He can’t even shake his head, too scared to dislodge his hands and burn his dad alive. “Nuh uh- no, no, I’ll hurt you.” He’ll hurt him, and even if he doesn’t become an orphan, they’ll never take him back. He thought his parents' love was unconditional but he never thought his mistakes could lead to murder.
Dad doesn’t hesitate, “I promise, you won’t. I can help you, if you’ll let me.”
“You can’t understand,” he gasps out, tearful and snotty.
His voice is so gentle. “I understand more than you know.” He’s touching him now, a careful hand on his arm, and Jon flinches all the same. “Let me help you, son. I’m here, I’m not leaving you behind again.” He rubs his thumb back and forth over his skin, helping ease the worst of his trembling.
“Daddy,” he whimpers. “I’m scared. I don’t wanna hurt you.”
A soft shushing sound helps soothe the worst of Jon’s increasing sobs. “I know, baby, I know. I’ve got you.” He settles closer, wrapping an arm around him and guiding him to lean against his side. Jon is weak. Eyes still covered, he leans into the touch with a pitiful cry. He can’t stop bawling, he doesn’t know if he ever will. Maybe this is how he’ll drown.
When Jon can’t catch his breath, his Dad pulls him into his lap, orienting him so he can lean forward into his chest. He doesn’t hesitate to pull him closer, even when he’s sure to get various bodily fluids all over his shirt. Jon keeps his hands over his eyes and hides at the crook of his dad’s neck. Dad has one hand carding through his hair and the other rubbing his back, trying to ease the wracking cries.
It takes several minutes but when Jon can finally breathe without breaking into pieces, his dad pulls him back. Not out of his lap, but able to see Jon’s covered face. Ever so slowly, he wraps his hands around Jon’s wrists. “You can look. I promise you, you will not hurt me.”
He can’t help himself. “You broke your promise before,” he says, all watery.
“I know,” he sighs. “And I will do better. I’ll do everything I can to earn your trust back. Please, Jonathan, trust me now.”
Jon lets him reveal his face, eyes still closed. Once his hands are pulled away, his dad cradles his cheek. He rubs a thumb across the delicate skin below his eye and whispers, “can you open your eyes for me, sweetheart?”
Slowly, he opens them. Even though his dad has been nothing but gentle, he’s still surprised to be faced with no anger, no malice, not even fear. Concern, yes, but none of that hate he was sure to come.
“Dad,” he whimpers.
“I’ve got you.”
“Mommy?”
“She’ll be okay. The doctors are treating her. She should make a full recovery.” Hearing it aloud, seeing his dad’s face when he says it- how open it is, how honest, he breaks again. This time when he hides, his dad lets him. He rocks him in his lap, cradling his head as he sobs.
Words muffled against his dad’s shirt, he cries, “‘m sorry, ‘m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” he says, as kind as he is firm. “I should have been there. I should have kept you both safe.” And selfishly, his first thought is that he’s right. He really should have.
“You left,” he wails. “You didn’t come back for the game, you didn’t come back for me.”
“I’m so sorry, Jonathan. I know it doesn’t make up for it, just know that I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere. I want to help you.” He takes a breath. “When you’re ready, I can bring you to go see mom.”
It doesn’t bring the stark relief he expected, instead the fear boiling over in his belly spills out. “She’s gonna hate me. I hurt her.”
Dad doesn't hesitate, doesn’t waver, “I swear to you, there’s not a single thing you could ever do that would make your mom hate you. Our love for you has no limits or conditions.”
For a few moments, Jon does nothing but sniffle and whine against his chest. There’s so much he could say, could cry about, and what comes out is a pathetic little, “I’m scared.”
“I’m here, Jonathan. I'm not going anywhere.”
His dad holds him a little longer, pressing a kiss to the top of his head when he mewls tearfully. Eventually, he shifts to stand, adjusting his hold to carry Jon. It’s only when he’s being cradled in his dad’s arms that he realizes he’s not wearing his glasses. He didn’t think dad wore contacts, but even that is less bizarre than the outfit he’s wearing.
“Dad, why, uh- why’re you wearing a costume?”
He smiles, pressing another kiss to his forehead before saying, “well, sweetheart, I’m Superman.” His complete disbelief must show on his face because he continues. “That’s where your powers came from.”
A whole whirlwind of conflicting emotions and thoughts swirl through him at once and the first of his many questions to come out is, “Wait, I’m an alien?”
“Half alien,” he gives a dazzling grin, the kind Superman does for the cameras, before softening once again. “Look, I’m sure you have lots of questions and I’m happy to answer them after we clean you up and go see your mom.”
He has to take a breath, but he’s able to sound almost normal when he says, “Right. Yeah, okay.”
Still held in his dad’s arms, he says, “Okay, hold on tight, darling.” And then he shoots into the air.
They move so fast that Jon has to close his eyes with how powerful the wind is. They stop momentarily, so brief that he can’t see where they are before they fly again. He hears birds at one point and he thinks maybe one day he could enjoy flying, if he could ever use his powers without hurting anyone.
They stop again, and Jon is put down on his feet for only a moment before he’s scooped up again. Now, his dad starts walking. When he opens his eyes, dad is dressed in normal attire.
“Here, let’s bandage you up and then we can check on Mama.”
He makes quick work of wiping away all the blood and grime. He has to use tweezers to pull out minuscule pieces of glass from his skin. After he’s all cleaned up, he puts little Superman themed bandaids on the cuts. He rolls his eyes but does nothing to stop him.
This time, instead of being carried through the hall like a baby, he holds his dad’s hand. He doesn’t allow himself to hide the way he craves to, doesn’t cling to his sweater or hide behind his legs.
As soon as they open the door to his mom’s hospital room, Jon and his mom mirror the same tearful reaction. With tears streaming down her face, she opens her arms, beckoning him closer.
Jon only hesitates for a single, trembling breath before he clambers forward, crawling onto the bed and into her awaiting arms. She pulls him to her chest, allowing him to pillow against her. Like this, her heartbeat a steady thrum, he can feel her breathing. The rise and fall of her chest is just as soothing as her voice, whispering assurances into his hair.
“Mommy, I’m so sorry,” he blubbers. “Mama, I’m sorry.”
She cradles his cheek so tenderly, just the same as his dad did earlier. “Jonathan, I’m just glad you’re alright.” She gives him a small, watery but just as genuine. “I’m going to be just fine. Okay? It’ll be alright.” He sobs, loud and ugly and she simply pulls him closer. He relishes in the movement of her ribcage, the definitive proof pressed against him.
After a few shuddering breaths, he manages to ask “The farm?”
Dad speaks up from his chair beside the bed, “I’ll take care of it. I know someone we can stay with until we rebuild.”
Jon opens his mouth, ready, but his mom cuts him off, “Nope, don’t apologize again. I don’t blame you. Jonathan, my sweet boy, you saved me. You got me out even when you were so scared and hurt.”
He can’t help but protest, needing her to know. “I left you there.”
“You were scared.” She smiles at him, so full of adoration. He doesn’t know how she could bear to hold him like this, knowing what he did to her. But she does. She does, and he may be greedy but he leans into the touch.
The bed shifts, and when he glances over his dad is here, sitting close enough to touch. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to mom’s cheek before doing the same to Jon. “I love you both so much,” he says, voice choked with emotion. “You’re my whole world.”
His mom scooches over and though there’s definitely not enough room, dad lays down too. Jon ends up atop him, dad halfway off the bed, but they’re together. His whole little family, all sharing each other's space, breathing in the same sterile air. His mama whispers a love you of her own and he echoes it, pushing past his guilt. He has to. He needs them to hear it. If he loses control again, they need to know how much he means it.