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Let Yourself Fall Apart

(Jon Kent rapidly became one of my favorite superheroes recently and, like most of his fans, I hate that DC decided to age him up. What really bothered me was how no one acknowledged how traumatic the circumstances by which he grew were. My boy was literally trapped in a volcano for five years, his sole visitor a sadistic version of his dad. No one who has worked on Jon since bothers to address this in any meaningful way, too intent on shoving Jon into the Superman role. Even aged up, I think he should have remained Superboy a little longer. Anyway, this fic seeks to remedy this disservice to Jon! Take that, DC!)

(Summary: Painful memories send Jon spiraling during what was supposed to be a peaceful evening. Expecting his father or Damian to come comfort him, Jon is taken aback by the shadow of the Batman looming large in his doorway.)

(Warnings: Panic attacks, crying, yelling)

(Note: This fic will directly reference the events of Superman and Robin #1 as well as a quote from Superman (Volume 5) #32. Also, the safe house the Kent family is staying at was established in Superman: Son of Kal-El #10. As of the date I am posting this, Clark is still off world and also died in Death of the Justice League along with Bruce. I obviously don't know how all of that is going to be resolved, so let's just say it was a happily-ever-after situation so they can all chill at the Kent safe house. Cool? Cool.)

(AO3 Link)

The stars twinkled brightly high overhead. Out here, on a mountain in the middle of nowhere, the sky remained untouched by city lights. It was a view Jon was used to, having grown up on a farm and visited space many times. Still, it never failed to comfort him; with the whole world constantly watching his every move, the vast cosmos served as a gentle reminder of how small he really was. While others might find the concept unnerving, sometimes it was the only thing that allowed him to sleep at night.

Not wishing to dwell on that last thought, Jon forcefully returned his attention back to the earth. Absently, he wondered what the citizens of the world would think if they knew that Batman, Robin, and two Supermen were currently sipping hot cocoa while seated around a campfire. Would knowing that their heroes engaged in such mundane activities comfort them? He liked to imagine so.

“...masterfully, we coaxed the creature to trust us and guided it back through the portal. Child’s play,” Jon just barely caught the end of Damian’s story. Raising an eyebrow at his friend, he tried to stifle a smirk.

“Actually, if I remember correctly, I was the one who did all the coaxing. The creature would have torn your hair out if not for me.”

He was rewarded with an annoyed glare from the boy wonder. Out of the corner of his eye, Jon caught their fathers sharing an amused glance.

“Yes, well, I did most of the Nazi butt-kicking,” Damian huffed, “And I was the one to suggest we wear the armored suits.”

“Sounds like a solid team effort,” Jon’s father broke in, “Right, Bruce?”

Wayne side-eyed his comrade and nodded, “I’d say so, Clark.”

Jon beamed at the praise. Damian dipped his head, though not before Jon spotted the small smile playing at his lips.

For the first time in a while, Jon felt at peace. With his father back from space and his best friend returned from his own adventures, he felt tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying ease off. He didn’t like being separated from his loved ones. He imagined that was a universal feeling, though it was especially poignant for him.

He went to take another sip of his drink when the fire crackled loudly. Sparks erupted from the flames as the fire leaped. It was hot- too hot. It burned his cape. He patted it down frantically as eruptions continued around him. The magma pooled about his feet. He tried to leap away but it was no use. He couldn’t fly. He was trapped. He was alone. Everywhere, there were only the flames.

His super breath could topple buildings, and yet he couldn’t even catch a breath. As his vision blurred to a haze of red and orange, someone spoke to him. He ignored the voice, knowing full well who it was and what he had to say. He’d heard it all countless times. Ultraman’s sobs landed on deaf ears.

Except, as he listened closer, there was definitely something different. There was a note of…concern. It sounded like…

He snapped back to reality as his dad prompted him again.

“Jon, what’s wrong?” Worry shone in his father’s wide blue eyes. Jon grounded himself in them and in the solid earth beneath his feet. The campfire continued to roar, but it was only a campfire; he wasn’t there anymore.

Suddenly, he could breathe again and inhaled shakily. Three sets of eyes bored into him. Damian wore the same anxious expression as Jon’s father. Wayne’s gaze was entirely inscrutable.

At last, Jon managed to stammer out, “N-Nothing, I…I just…need to use the bathroom.”

Before anyone could say anything, he’d scrambled to his feet and hurried back to the house just a hint faster than a normal human could go. He told himself he just needed some time to calm down. No matter how hard he tried, though, he couldn’t force the memories from his mind. He didn’t understand what was happening to him. He’d been fine just a minute ago!

The front door slammed behind him as he made a beeline for his bedroom. This house was larger than the one he’d grown up in. It was a Justice League safe house paid for by Bruce Wayne, so that was to be expected. He was grateful for the size right now; it meant he could easily slip past his mother’s office and his grandparents’ bedroom unnoticed. As much as he ached for his family, he didn’t want them seeing him like this.

When you came back to us, somehow you were the same compassionate, selfless, outgoing, happy kid you were when you left.

Jon clung to those words like a lifeline as they echoed in his head. He wanted to - needed to - believe them. He could still hear the pride in his dad’s voice.

The resilience that must have taken, Jon. It defies all understanding.

In the safety of his bedroom, Jon allowed himself to collapse to his knees as sudden anger swelled within him. No, his father couldn’t begin to understand. He couldn’t even understand it himself.

Five years. He’d languished in a volcano for five years. Everyone believed he’d somehow bounced back from that; good old dependable Jon, as chipper as ever, like nothing ever happened. Agreeing with everyone’s praise had been so much easier than admitting how broken he was inside.

At least this way, his parents could remain proud of him.

A shadow fell across him. He hadn’t even noticed the door open. At first, he assumed it was his father (the last person he wanted to see right now). The heartbeat was different, though. The steadiness reminded him of Damian, but it was too loud to be his friend’s, meaning it could only belong to one other person. Stunned, he turned around slowly.

Wayne’s broad shoulders filled the doorway. He stood with his arms crossed and his gaze turned down toward Jon. The same unreadable expresson of before sized him up.

Unsure what to do, Jon only stared. His vision swam and he realized - with a start - that there were tears in his eyes. He turned to wipe them away and Wayne seemed to take that as an invitation to come inside.

Wordlessly, the larger man removed something from his pocket and offered it to Jon. It was a handkerchief. Jon took it mechanically as Wayne seated himself on his bed, forcing Jon to look up at him.

The silence that ensued was maddening. Eventually, Jon couldn’t take it.

“Why are you here?” he asked icily.

Wayne didn’t react to the tone, “I assume you were expecting your father or Damian.”

Jon simply glared down at the floor.

“Would you rather they were here and not me?”

Yes, Jon was about to snap, when he stopped himself. If he was being honest, he really didn’t want to see either of them right now. They were two of the people he loved most and who loved him in turn. If they saw him like this, all they’d want to do was tell him everything was okay. They’d say he could get through this, that he was strong enough to get through this. Right now, he didn’t want to hear blatant lies.

“No,” he whispered at last.

Wayne nodded, “I figured.”

Jon felt his nose start to run. Without thinking, he blew into the handkerchief, before realizing his mistake.

“Um, sorry,” he said sheepishly as he folded up the snot-soaked cloth.

“That’s what it’s for,” Wayne replied gruffly.

Jon bowed his head awkwardly, still not sure what was happening. Everything just felt like too much right now. Too many unpleasant memories crowded in his brain; he could feel a headache coming on.

When Wayne spoke again, Jon merely listened, unwilling to meet the gaze of the Batman.

“Your father and Damian wanted to check on you. I told them to give you space.”

Jon didn’t look up as he repeated his question from earlier, “Then why are you here?”

“I’m giving you space,” Wayne replied simply, “To talk.”

That last bit made Jon glance up, “Talk?”

Piercing blue eyes met Jon’s watery gaze and the teenager did his best not to look away. Satisfied he was paying attention, Wayne continued.

“I heard about what happened to you,” he stated plainly, “Clark and Damian filled me in.”

Swallowing thickly, Jon resisted the urge to duck his head, “Okay?”

“Five years trapped in a volcano, alone but for the occasional visit from a twisted version of your father.”

It was strange to hear someone relate his own story back to him. His lungs started to seize again.

“No hope of rescue. No hope you’d ever see your family and friends again.”

His breath came in ragged gasps. Every agonizing moment flooded back to him. The loneliness, the despair, the fear-

“Trapped for the rest of your life.”

“Stop!” The whine escaped Jon unbidden. As soon as the word left his mouth, Wayne stopped. When he could gather enough air to speak, the teen rounded on the vigilante.

“Wh...Why are you-?!”

“I need you to understand how traumatic that experience was.”

“I know how bad it was!” Jon felt his eyes heat up as his laser vision kicked in. Despite the imminent danger of getting blasted to bits, Wayne didn’t flinch.

“I don’t think you do,” Wayne shot back sternly, “And neither do your parents. Not even Damian.”

Jon had to forcefully keep his power in check as he hissed, “And you think you do?!”

“I’m not afraid to understand,” Wayne gritted out, “Unlike the rest of you.”

He pressed on before Jon could take drastic action, “None of you are willing to process what happened. You all act as if you simply aged into a seventeen year-old within three weeks.”

He leaned in closer. If Jon let loose the lasers pulsing behind his eyes, Wayne wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Jon,” his tone was quieter now, yet somehow more intense, “You were gone for years. You were trapped in a volcano for years. None of you can keep pretending that never happened.”

By now, Jon had to squeeze his eyes shut against the energy beams, “Why not?! Everyone’s happier this way!”

“You’re not,” Wayne stated plainly, “I saw you back at the campfire. Clark and Damian might not have picked up on it, but I did: you were suffering a post-traumatic stress induced panic attack.”

There was that word again: traumatic. Jon hated it.

“I’m fine!” his voice rose to a shout, “I…I was fine! It was just…just a fluke...”

Even as he spoke, he didn’t believe himself. This hadn’t been the first of his so-called “flukes.” While this last attack had certainly been more intense, it definitely wasn’t the first time unwanted memories had intruded on his thoughts.

Wayne’s silence spoke volumes; he knew Jon was lying.

Still, Jon felt the need to defend himself, “I’ve been around fire since…since that experience. I helped someone with fire powers without freaking out!”

There was a low exhale before Wayne responded, “Traumatic memories often resurface when we let our guards down- when we feel…relaxed. You didn’t feel relaxed in that situation, but you did tonight.”

With his eyes cooling off, Jon could at last face Wayne again. There was something incredibly open in his gaze, and Jon felt some of his anger dissipate.

“How do you know so much?” he murmured wearily.

It was Wayne’s turn to bow his head, “I’ve known a lot of hurt kids…myself included.”

He glanced up after a moment’s pause, “Everyone keeps telling you that you’re strong- that they’re proud of you for being strong…but even the strong need to be weak sometimes; it’s the only way they can keep being strong.”

With his eyes now cooled, Jon felt tears well up again. There was a pressure in his chest and throat that craved release. He tried to swallow it down, but that only made it worse.

His voice was high and shaky when he could finally speak, “I…I don’t…” Tears trickled freely down his cheeks, “I don’t want them to know…”

Closing his eyes, he buried his face in his hands, “I just want to be a boy again.”

The confession was barely a whisper and yet it reverberated in his ears. I just want to be a boy again.

He wanted to clutch his dad’s cape as they soared through the air. He wanted to lie in his mom’s lap while she typed and stroked his hair. He wanted to patrol with Damian and bicker about nothing. Everyone always lamented that they’d missed him growing up. None of them paused to consider that he’d missed it, too, and maybe they should stop feeling sorry for themselves and just let him be.

“I don’t want to be Superman!” he sobbed, “I just…I just want my dad.”

There was a telltale whoosh and suddenly another figure appeared in the doorway. Jon looked to Wayne, who now got to his feet. He planned this. He had gotten Jon to open up knowing his dad would be listening in. It should have angered him, but right now, Jon was too spent to care. Slowly, he turned to face his father, readying himself for the disappointment he expected to see.

Instead, watery blue eyes met his own. Superman was crying. Just like that, the pressure within Jon exploded.

His father was beside him in an instant. Strong arms enveloped him in a tight embrace. It felt as if all his emotions were being squeezed out of him. His sobs were harsh and desperate, like they couldn’t stand to be cooped up any longer. He thought he might break apart from the sheer intensity. Footsteps thudded in the hallway and soon his mother was at his other side, with Damian and his grandparents crowding into the room behind her. They said something but Wayne urged them all to silence.

“Jon, what’s wrong?” his mother asked urgently. Jon only buried his face in his father’s chest.

“I’m sorry!” he found himself babbling, “I’m sorry!”

“Shh,” A large, warm hand moved to cup the nape of his neck as his mother’s delicate fingers carded through his hair. It felt so impossibly right yet so out of place.

“It’s okay,” his father murmured into his hair, “You’re alright.”

“No, I’m not!” he fairly screamed. A hush fell over the room, broken only by Jon’s continued sobs. He hated the quiet, but it was better than meaningless comfort. If he imagined hard enough, he could pretend he was a kid again and his parents were comforting him after a sad movie.

It’s over now, Jon, they’d say, Let’s get you to bed.

The hand at his neck moved to cradle his face. A gentle thumb scraped a tear-stained cheek.

“No,” The agony in his father’s voice made Jon’s breath catch, “You’re not. You’re not alright.”

It sounded like it broke his heart to admit it. Glancing up, Jon went to say something, though he wasn’t sure what. His dad’s next words forestalled whatever they might have been.

“And that’s okay.”

Jon couldn’t breathe, though this time it was for an entirely different reason.

“You…You don’t have to be okay,” his father reiterated, his voice wobbling, “I sh-should never have expected you to be. Jon, I…I’m so sorry.”

The apology was choked by a sob. Jon couldn’t bear to see his father this way.

“Dad,” he began, “It’s-It’s okay. I know you-”

“No,” His father shook his head viciously, “There’s no excuse. I…I d-didn’t want to…to think about what happened to you. It was selfish and I…I’m sorry.”

He had to pause for air, during which Jon’s mother spoke for him.

“We’re sorry,” she breathed. When Jon turned to her, there were tears trailing down her face. The sheer remorse reflected back at him made another sob escape the teen.

“Oh, Jon,” His mother pressed closer to his side. By now, his parents were the only thing keeping him upright. Exhaustion weighed heavy on his shoulders. He closed his eyes with a shaky exhale.

“I don’t…I don’t want to grow up,” he whispered.

“No rush, kiddo,” His dad planted a kiss on the top of his head, “Take all the time you want.”

“We’re here for you,” his mom added, “All of us.”

A small hand rested on his shoulder as his grandparents moved to either side to join in the embrace.

“We’ve got your back,” Damian pledged.

“We love you so much,” his grandma enthused.

“You’re never alone,” his grandpa promised.

Surrounded by so much love, Jon couldn’t help but cry more. No one tried to stop him. No one told him he would be alright. Instead, they allowed him to fall apart, knowing full well they’d be there later to pick up the pieces.

Lulled by their loving presence, Jon began to slip into a warm doze. As his awareness faded, he just barely noticed that Wayne still hadn’t left, though he was keeping his distance. Shrouded in the corner of the darkened room, his silhouette was instantly recognizable to Jon, making it all the more surprising when the Batman smiled.

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