I’ll leave the porch light on. Heartbroken, each morning, when it’s me that turns it off.
You were discharged from the hospital within 12 hours of your arrival, having only to stay until you were medically stable.
Clark was kind enough to offer you a place to stay at his house with Lois and his son, Jonathan. They had a spare bedroom you could use. It was unfamiliar, but it was warm and welcoming. Already 100 times better than a familiar coldness in Gotham.
They offered you a place at their table and engaged in conversation with you, unprompted. They asked surface level questions at first; how old you were, what college you were attending, what you were studying. And when you told them you were majoring in art, they asked to see your work.
You were a bit embarrassed to show them, but you fished out your travel sketchbook from your backpack, the one you bought specifically to fill during your road trip, and allowed them to flip through the pages of your rough drawings.
Listen, sitting through critiques is one thing. But having a family of three crowded around your sketchbook, arguably the most intimate part of an artist, and gushing about how wonderful and talented you and your drawings were, lowkey, made you want to purposefully throw yourself off a ledge in Yosemite valley.
Then, upon returning your sketchbook, Lois asked what your plan for the future was while Clark took Jonathan to bed upstairs.
Gee, if only you knew the answer. You were only 23, you didn’t know what you wanted.
Well, being happy would be a good start.
“Please, Lois is fine. I get enough of “Ms. Lane” while at the DP.”
You smiled, “I’m not sure what I want from life yet, or what I can do for a career. The arts is a competitive field and one that doesn’t seem to be valued very much—”
“But do you love it?” She challenged.
“With everything I have.”
“Then chase it,” she said it like it was the easiest thing in the world.
“Honey, correct me if I’m wrong, but did you not just drive 3,000 miles across the US?”
“I was terrified. I could’ve died.”
“But you did it anyway, didn’t you?”
“But I got hurt. I almost died,” you stressed.
“You had support. You called for help and Clark was there without hesitation. My point is, you can’t let fear get in the way of what you want most of all. Otherwise, you’ll live a life of “I should’ve done that”s, when you could’ve had one filled with “I did that”s. And besides, if you can drive across America, without hesitation, by yourself, then I think you have the courage to successfully pursue your passion in art. Plus, it’ll make for a great autobiography,” she smiled and winked at you.
Lois Lane was officially your favorite person. She’s like a cool aunt. Everyone should have a Lois in their lives.
It was getting late and you were starting to get tired, it’s been a painful and eventful 24 hours.
You took one of your prescribed painkillers and a glass of water, and retired to the guest bedroom after telling Lois and Clark goodnight, and thank you for the hospitality.
They really were kind people.
Within the first two weeks of your stay at the Hotel Lane-Kent, you began to ease into a sort of routine.
Lois and Clark still had to go to work at the Daily Prophet during the week (and sometimes the weekend) and Jon had just been released for summer break.
You’d “babysit” Jon while his parents were away, and in return, Jon would be the biggest helper with assisting you with the things you need and places to go since you had only half your limbs to work with. He even played nurse.
You’ve developed a lot of bruises, mainly on your back,torso, and hips, but the minor cuts and scraps have already healed nicely aside from one on the back of your left shoulder. You must have landed on a sharp rock on your way down.
It was the only one that needed ointment, but thankfully it can be reached while you wear a tank top.
You inwardly cringed as the gel made contact with your wound. It felt unreasonably cold.
“Do you think it’ll scar?” Jon asked while he gently rubbed the ointment over the surface with a Q-tip.
“I don’t know, it might,” you indulged him.
“I bet it’ll look really cool! Like a battle scar!”
“Yeah, I got in a battle against gravity and lost,” you chuckled.
Jon threw away the Q-tip and capped the medicine.
“Yeah, I’m still losing that battle too,” he said while leading you out the bathroom and back to the living room couch. “I can do all the other abilities that dad has, but flying is still a challenge. I can’t seem to figure it out.”
“What have you tried so far?”
The tiny Kryptonian plopped down next to you and thought for a second.
“I’ve tried jumping off places and pretending I was a bird. I’ve tried having dad carry me and gradually let go, you know, like how they do when teaching a kid to ride a bike. And Damian pushed me off a water tower, once.” He lists.
Damian would, you thought amusingly.
“Have you tried asking your dad how he learned?”
“Dad said it just came to him, like it was an instinct. And it makes sense, he didn’t really have anyone to tell him how to be Superman. He had to figure that out on his own.”
You let that sit with you for a moment.
“Maybe the same will happen to you, then. You’ll learn to fly when you’re ready.” You offered.
“But, when will I know I’m ready?”
Good question, buddy. You wish you knew the answer.
“Honestly. I’m not entirely sure. Obviously, I’m not a Kryptonian or a hero in general, but I imagine there’s a sign. A shift in your energy that tells you it’s time.”
Jon crossed his arms and sighed, leaning into the couch, “How do I make the energy shift faster?”
You smiled and booped the impatient child’s nose.
“I don’t know. I think superboy has to figure that out for himself.”
After 3 weeks, you were able to stop wearing the sling that supported your dislocated shoulder, and the back wound finally scarred.
Jon was right, it did look kinda sick.
Your non-dominant wrist was still in a cast. It wouldn’t be ready to come off for a few more weeks. Your ankle was still pretty swollen, too.
Recovery was long and grueling. Boring too.
You felt like a burden to your hosts.
They had to cook extra meals and clean your dishes, help you walk to and from places, get you things when you needed them. All while you sat there on the couch.
Lois and Clark now had another thing to worry about besides journalism and hero work, and Jon was stuck at home, when his parents were at work, with you. He’s a kid, he should be enjoying his summer, not taking care of you.
You can take care of yourself.
This would be easier if you were back in Gotham.
At least you’d know you wouldn’t be a problem for anyone.
When you got bored and weren’t busy doing light physical therapy and icing your ankle with a pack of frozen peas, you would draw. You still had plenty of pages in your sketchbook to fill, after all.
But something was missing.
Even though you were only on the road for two weeks, you grew to really enjoy drawing the sites you saw on your adventure. It forced you to slow down, pay attention, and really appreciate the moment you were in while committing the details to paper. In a way, you felt like you were connecting with the trees, rivers, valleys, and Earth on a deeper level. Like it became a part of you.
You missed the mountains.
Feeling uninspired, you flipped through the pages you’ve already marked. There were sketches of, of course, the interesting landscapes you saw, but there were also some still lifes and scenes that caught your attention.
There was a recycling bin in one of the parks with a sign that asked the viewer to “please recycle” and an empty plastic water bottle on the ground next to it. The irony made you laugh, so you documented it before picking the trash up and placing it in the bin.
There was an interesting monument of a grizzly bear and her cub when you visited the Grand Tetons. Grizzly 399: Queen of the Tetons. She was the most famous bear in the world, having 18 cubs over her lifetime with only 8 of them surviving to adulthood. She served as a symbol of strength, hope, and motherhood, having faced not only the harsh wilderness, but the clash with humans as well. With being so popular among crowds and becoming used to the presence of people, her natural fear response dwindled as she got comfortable being around them, which unfortunately led to her death after being struck by a vehicle. You drew the monument in her honor.
You flipped a few more pages until you saw a portrait of an old woman—well, she’d tell you she wouldn’t be old until she reached a hundred. You met Linda while you were drawing Emerald lake in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. She saw you drawing the landscape and commented on how beautiful she thought your work was and how she was just in awe with how artists can capture the beauty in just about anything. She also told you how she always wanted a painted portrait of herself.
Well, you weren’t much of a painter, but you offered to draw her instead. She was so excited.
While you captured her proportions, you asked her to tell you about herself.
Linda told you her life. She was born and raised in east Texas and went to Southwestern University, where she met her husband, and later graduated to becoming a teacher. She told you how she and her husband moved to Wisconsin for a while and how she adopted her son, a toddler at the time, from his foster mother. And a few years later she moved to Virginia, where she had her daughter.
She told you how she lost her husband 16 years ago from Multiple Systems Atrophy and how she’s been going to the National Parks every summer with her family to spread his ashes since her husband never got the chance to see them. She told you how she missed him every day.
You learned all these things while getting to know the contour of her aged face, the fall of her hair, and the warmth in her eyes.
She had a mole on the left, her right, side of her upper lip and small, steep arched eyebrows, she kept her salt and peppered hair short and neat, and she had many, many, smile lines along the sides of her face and the corners of her eyes. She must have been a joyous woman. So full of love and light.
When you showed her your finished drawing, she got teary eyed and smiled. She absolutely loved it. She didn’t think she’d ever feel beautiful again in her older age, but you proved her wrong.
You offered to tear the page out of your book and give it to her, but she declined. She wanted you to keep the drawing for when you become famous, saying that a photo would be more than enough for her.
You caressed the paper with your thumb and hoped she and her family were doing well. She deserved happiness.
You looked up from your sketchbook and across the kitchen table at Lois and Clark. They sat quietly next to each other, Lois on her phone and Clark reading the morning paper, their coffees next to them. But what caught your eye was how they had their inner hands resting on top of one another, on top of the table’s surface.
You turned to a blank spread in your sketchbook and uncapped your pen.
“Lois, Clark? Do you mind telling me how the two of you fell in love?”
By week 6, your ankle had healed enough for you to be able to walk around on your own, with limited pressure. You also got the cast off your wrist. You were almost fully mobile again, now you just had to be careful not to overstrain yourself while getting through the sore stage.
You couldn’t wait to be able to run again, you're getting restless.
Lois and Clark noticed how you and Jon were getting bored being at home all day. It was near the end of June and there had been little excitement, so they asked and got approved for some time off and surprised the two of you with an impromptu (it was planned) trip to Smallville, Kansas. It was time you met the Kents.
It’s a 21 hour drive to Smallville from Delaware. About 24 to 25 hours if you’re including bathroom breaks, getting gas, and stopping for food. Now, was it psychotic to drive straight through? Absolutely. But why add the extra expense for staying at an inn when there were three adults with valid driving licenses in the car?
It was your turn to drive, switching with Clark after he refilled the tank at 10pm. There were about seven hours left in the drive, you’d arrive at around 8am after another few stops. But for now, the night was yours while your surrogate family slept in their seats.
Nostalgia swept over you as you saw the moon and stars guide your journey ahead.
You remembered seeing them clearly for the first time, how they felt so magical to witness. And you remembered feeling so lost beneath them in Colorado, and again in California.
This time, however, it felt like they were greeting you. Like they were excited to see you on the road again. Like you were meant to go this way.
You don’t know why it felt like your heart was reaching out into the night. What was it yearning for?
At around 2am, Clark shifted awake in the passenger seat.
“How’re you doing, kiddo?” He whispered.
“I’m fine. I’m basically a pro at driving long distances.”
He shook his head, “I mean, how are you emotionally? What are you thinking about lately?”
Jesus, at two in the morning?
“Could you ask a more specific question to narrow it down, please?” Vague questions kinda stress you out.
“Have you thought about what you're gonna do after the summer? Are you going to return to Gotham? You still have a semester left, right?”
Logically, you knew that you couldn’t stay out of Gotham forever. You have responsibilities, after all. But…all you had left was an internship, and you were allowed to do that out of state as long as you were approved. Then you’d graduate.
“All I have left is an internship and then I’ll be able to graduate. I’m thinking about reaching out to the Getty or the LACMA.”
“California? Really?” Clark was surprised. He’s thought you’d never want to step foot there again after Yosemite. “Doesn’t that seem kind of petty? Trying to stay as far from Gotham as possible?”
Sure, but you weren’t going to tell him that.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. LA county has more art museums per capita than anywhere else in the world. I’m simply going where the work is.” A cheeky grin made its way across your lips.
Clark gave an amused huff.
“Alright then. What about the Bats?” He asked.
“Will you try to talk to them again?”
The two of you didn’t say anything for a moment, the only sounds coming from the tires on asphalt roads and the mother and son sleeping in the back seat.
“I don’t think so. I’m tired of knocking on doors when it’s clear the people inside don’t want anything to do with me.”
The exhaustion was evident in your voice. Clark felt so much betrayal from his colleague and friend. A father should always be there for his children, every one of them. Not just the ones who follow his example. You were so talented and wonderful in your own right. It’s a shame Bruce didn’t see it sooner, if at all.
Clark wanted to ask if Bruce or the others tried reaching out within the past few weeks. But somehow, he already knew the answer. He was so disappointed in the Waynes.
Clark soon fell back asleep after making sure you were safe while refilling the tank for the last stretch of the trip. Once again, you were alone with the stars.
The phone in your pocket, with the massive cracked screen, hasn’t buzzed once. Not while you were solo camping, and not while you’ve been staying with the Lane-Kent family.
Clark didn’t tell you, but you knew he went to talk to the Bats after you were placed on bedrest for a few hours. He seemed like the type to try and knock some sense into people if he felt they were acting out line. He was so dad coded.
And maybe there was a part of you that hoped that maybe Bruce would realize his mistakes and try to make things right between the two of you. That your siblings would try to mend the gap as well. But the longer time stretched on without their names popping up in your notifications, the more you got mad at yourself for thinking they would change.
And why would they? They’ve never done that before, so why would they do it now?
You’re tired of repeatedly getting your heart broken every time they don’t answer.
Perhaps it was time to turn the porch light off.
Martha and Jonathan Kent, who insisted you call them Ma and Pa, are some of the sweetest people you’ve ever met. Right there next to Linda.
When you pulled up to their driveway at 8:21am, they were already sitting on the front porch, in a couple of rocking chairs, sipping on their morning coffee.
Oh, and they were not handshaking people.
Ma’s hug was light and comforting, welcoming you to their home. While pa’s was firm and steady. It told you you’re safe and no harm will touch you here. Guess that’s where Clark got it from.
When the couple brought the four travelers inside, they had breakfast waiting for them in the kitchen.
A spread of scrambled eggs with sausage mixed in, fan fried potato wedges, slices of homemade sourdough that have already been toasted, a plate of freshly washed berries, and your pickin’ of butter, peach preserves, or grape jelly for your toast. There was also a pitcher of orange juice in the middle.
But before you could eat, there was something you had to do first.
The six of you stood around the table, holding hands and bowing your heads. Pa led the prayer.
“Lord, we thank you for this day and for the gathering of family, both familiar and friend. We are blessed to be able to have time to spend with our
loved ones, within all of our hectic lives and schedules. We all take different roads and paths, but we’re grateful for the paths that merge with our own in the journey of life. We ask you to show us your grace and forgiveness, so that we may have the strength to show that grace and forgiveness to others. We thank you for your patience, and your love, and the blessings you give us every day. Even the ones that go unnoticed. In our Father’s name, Amen.”
“Amen,” the five echoed. And with that, you all took your seats and began passing the plates.
You’ve had home cooked meals in Gotham, Alfred made sure that the bats and you were all properly fed. But those meals were always cold, metaphorically speaking. They were lonely and lacked soul. But here? This was the best food you’ve ever tasted.
It was no high society, overpriced meal, and this was no five star Michelin restaurant, but it didn’t have to be. It was perfect as it was.
The company made it perfect.
Like at the Lane-Kent home, you were engaged in conversation over the food. You, once again, introduced yourself to the Kents.
You told them your age, where you’re from, the university you were attending, your major and how you were staying with their son, daughter-in-law, and grandson while you were healing from your injuries you got from your trip.
They didn’t ask what you were doing 3,000 miles from home by yourself. They didn’t need to.
After the meal, you helped Ma clean up the dishes while pa helped unload the car with Jon, Clark, and Lois. You were still instructed not to lift heavy weights.
“May I ask what you were looking for?” She spoke gently while scrubbing the cast iron pan.
“Pardon?” You didn’t know what she was talking about.
“3,000 miles is a long way to go looking for something. Did you find it?”
You shook your head, “I wasn’t looking for anything.”
Ma handed you the pan to towel dry, carefully, since it was technically a heavier weight.
“Sure you were. We’re all searching for something. You must’ve not been aware of what it was yet.” She rung out the sponge before placing it back with the other scrubbers before turning to take the now dry cast iron from you and placing it in the oven.
“Whatever it is you’re looking for, I hope you find it, honey.”
You spent some time learning about Ma and Pa Kent, the same way you did with Lois and Clark. The same way as you did with Linda. By drawing their portraits while listening to their stories.
You learned that Martha and Jonathan were high school sweethearts and grew up here in Smallville, attending the same Methodist church in town. The house and farm they lived on was Jonathen’s childhood home that’s been passed down from his great great grandparents. Farming was what he grew up on, and since he was little, he knew he wanted to be a farmer, just like his daddy.
Martha grew up as the oldest of five and helped raise her sibling while her parents worked. Because of the times, she was taught to be the homemaker and dutiful wife to her future husband. So that’s what she became, except, she vowed to do it differently.
Martha’s parents didn’t love each other, even she could tell that from a young age. Her mother married her father when she was 16 and he was 33. It’s suspected that sexual assault was at play, and to keep the neighbors from talking, a loveless marriage was forced and the secrets kept behind closed doors.
Martha’s father was abusive. He’d hit, beat, and rape his wife, but her mother made sure he’d never touch her children.
Martha loved her mother. She was kind and gentle and followed the teachings of Jesus to the absolute best of her abilities. Martha wanted to follow her example.
But she wanted true love.
When she met Jonathan, she knew he was the one, as he knew she was the one for him. They both had a kind warmth in their eyes and a lovestruck giddy smile on their faces that told them they were gonna be together for the rest of their lives.
A year after graduating from high school, they got married and moved onto the Kent family farm, while the elder couple moved down the road. Everything was perfect.
That was, until they tried to start a family.
Martha knew she wanted to be a mother for a long time. And when she met Jonathan, she knew he deserved the chance to be a daddy. She knew he’d make a great father.
So they tried for a baby. They tried for months, but each time it was too painful to keep going. When they went to the doctor, that’s when they learned the news.
Martha learned she had a severe case of endometriosis. Excess cells that were growing outside the uterus and causing her extreme pain. She went in for surgery that week and had her uterus removed.
She couldn’t have children. She’d never be a mama.
Martha spent weeks crying in the room they planned to turn into a nursery. She wondered for months whether they’d paint it pink or blue, but it turned out they’ll be leaving the walls bare and void of any life.
She felt like a failure. To herself and to Jonathan.
He was the kindest, most loving man she had ever met. He deserved a chance to hold his own baby, he was so excited too.
Why was it that an awful man like her father could have children, yet the best man she knew would never have the honor of being a father? It was cruel and unfair.
For so long did Martha cry and pray for God to give her the answer. For so long did Jonathan hold his wife while she wept, reassuring her that everything was going to be alright as he shared her tears.
Together, they grieved the life that could have been, recognizing that their faith and love in each other and in Christ was being tested. They may never hold a baby, but at least they can still hold each other.
They held each other for fifteen years. Until one morning in mid-May, they were greeted by the world's loudest and most destructive stork.
Some kind of space pod crash-landed right in their field, creating a creator that’s still there to this day behind the house.
The couple was sitting on the front porch with their coffees when it happened. They thought it was a bomb at first.
When they went around back to check it out, the capsule was still shut tight. It only opened when they got closer, like it could sense their presence.
Inside was a baby that looked about five months old, fussing and crying, and wearing some kind of futuristic onesie. The couple looked at each other, frightened but also curious.
Slowly, Martha stepped closer to the pod and carefully picked the baby up, cradling him against her chest and gently bouncing while patting his back.
“Shhhh, don’t worry. I gotcha.” she whispered to the child.
Poor thing, he just needed to be held. Where did he come from? Where were his parents?
The pod buzzed to life again, scaring Martha and Jonathan. She clutched the baby tighter and angled herself away upon reaction.
A hologram was projected from the spacecraft. A tall and fit couple in the same style of clothing as the baby stood center screen. They looked heartbroken while red and orange explosions could be seen from the window behind them. They held each other tightly while they looked at whoever might see the message.
Then, the woman opened her lips and began speaking. It was in an unknown language. Martha and Jonathan couldn't speak any other languages other than English, but even they knew what was being said was in a tongue not of this world. But they didn’t need to know what they were saying. The tears on tears in their eyes told them everything.
This poor baby…all alone…
Martha looked at her husband. He looked at her, then at the baby she held. They both knew what they were going to do next.
Despite the unusual circumstances and unfortunate occurrences, they smiled joyously and kissed their blessing.
Welcome to the world, Clark Kent.
You looked down at your sketchbook spread, scanning the details. You drew the couple holding each other, like you saw them often do, with the love that was ever present in their souls. You hoped they found each other in every lifetime. They were truly meant for one another.
Clark was really lucky to have his parents. They were good ones. They taught him how to be the kind and caring man he was today. They taught him how to be a loving husband and father.
Maybe that’s where things went wrong with Bruce. He had no one to show him how to be a father, so he didn’t know how to be the one you needed.
It made sense, but it didn’t make it okay.
You really wish your phone would ring.
Clark has noticed since they’ve arrived at his parents place, especially since you drew Ma and Pa, that you’ve been withdrawing into yourself more. It was sad to watch. You needed someone to talk to badly and he was starting to think he wasn’t the best person for that role. So, he made a call.
It was almost midnight. Everyone else was asleep and here you were, sitting on the front porch, lightly rocking in one of the chairs, and looking up at the stars that called to you. There was no moon tonight.
For someone who wasn’t a bat-themed vigilante, you’ve certainly adopted their habit of being up at odd hours as of late. You wondered if they ever look up at the same sky and think about you the way you did for them.
You sighed and closed your eyes as you took in the warm summer night.
“It’s a beautiful night for star-gazing, isn’t it?” A feminine voice asked.
You snapped your eyes open and whipped your head towards the woman floating in front of you. A grin spreading across your lips.
“Wonder Woman?!” You laughed in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”
“Call me Diana, please. Clark told me you might need someone to talk to. I’m here to listen.” She touched down on the porch and took a seat in the rocking chair beside you.
“So, what’s on your mind?”
You really had a habit for attracting hard conversations during odd hours, huh?
You stayed quiet for a minute before looking back to the stars for comfort. They’ve been your only constant the past two months.
“Why did you leave Themyscira?”
Now it was Diana’s turn to be still for a moment. She took a deep breath.
“I felt the need to fight for and protect humanity. I felt it was my calling.”
Diana looked up to the stars as well, “Everyday. I miss my mother and sisters dearly.”
You turned your head to look at her, “Would you have stayed if you knew it hurt this bad?”
The Amazonian shook her head.
“I’d choose humanity, over and over again.”
“Because there is a part of me that knew there was more for me than what Themyscira could offer. It hurt to watch my people disappear into the fog, knowing I’d never be permitted to see them again. It still hurts sometimes. But I also knew I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t leave to help defend the people who couldn’t defend themselves. Every choice is a difficult one to make, but we have to choose the ones that feel true to us. It’ll hurt for a time, change always does. But that’s how we grow into the people we are meant to become.”
That was exactly what you needed to hear. You thanked Diana and looked back up at your stars again, as they beckoned you westward.
a/n: Okay so, I'm changing the tile of this collection to The Great Divide and using the songs of the album as individual chapter titles (not necessarily in order of the track list) and bits of lyrics as vague inspirations (IDK it makes sense to me). I set myself up for a part 3 (honestly, probably more) and I have a concept of an idea for the ending with no idea how I'm gonna get there. But I guess that's part of the 3,000 miles, huh? Ma and Pa Kent's backstory is completely mine, I couldn't be bothered to see if they actually had one. Oh, and I'm not even joking, I started crying while writing some of this and I have no idea if my heart translated well through my blurry vision. Anyways, LMK your thoughts and thank you for reading!
𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖦𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝖣𝗂𝗏𝗂𝖽𝖾: 𝖠 𝖬𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍
