-Clark takes Conner to smallville, under conditions.-

The days slipped through Clark's fingers, the tandem excitement of seeing his parents and regret of inviting Conner making his head spin. He had no issue bringing Conner with him, but... there was the parent issue. 

He'd find a way, some solution to protect both parties from each other. Of course he would, he's superman. Though admittedly schemes were more Bruce's speed, but Clark found himself too proud to ask his colleague for help. Bruce would probably still be unsympathetic after the whole no-warning-babysitting thing and tell him to bite the bullet. No, he'd figure something out.

Just like that came friday morning. Clark was up with the lark, packing his weekend bag, when Conner dragged himself out of the safety of the bathtub.

"What are you doing?"

"Packing." Clark replied. The boy didn't say anything more, hovering in the doorway and watching him. "You don't have anything to pack, do you?" The boy shook his head. 

They ate a conservative breakfast, and were forced to confront the rather awkward issue of getting to Smallville. According to Bruce-- who knew better than he-- Conner couldn't fly. Clark a little scared to ask if this was true, lest he offend the boy.

"So, uh, Conner?" He coughed. "I figure we should leave soon."

"How are we getting there?"

"I was. I was just going to fly." Clark assessed the boy's reaction: his face and fist tightened, he looked away, then directing into Clark's soul.

"Is this a joke?" He demanded.

"What?"

"I can't fly." Conner growled. "Obviously I can't fly! I'm not you!" He stood sharply, turning on his heel. Clark had to think fast.

"That's okay!" He said, maybe a little too enthusiastically. Conner stopped. "That's, that's fine. I couldn't fly at your age." That part was kind of a lie, but Conner actually turned to face him.

"Really?"

"Nope." Clark said. "And, you don't, you don't need to fly to be a good hero." He pet the boy's ego, terrified of another outburst. 

Conner scoffed. "Of course I do!"

"Batman can't fly." Clark said. "Or Canary."

Conner thought it over. "That's different. They're not kryptonian. they're not supposed to."

Seeing a tantrum on the horizon, Clark quickly said something, anything to satiate the boy. "I won't judge you." He said. "It's okay, I promise. Please don't yell."

The boy looked contemplative. He sat down again, still frowning. "So how would we get there?"

He didn't like the answer.

Conner was stubborn, prideful, he didn't want to be carried. 

Clark guessed he couldn't blame him, they hadn't exactly gotten along until recently. There might still be some trust issues to address. Hell, Clark didn't completely trust the kid either. 

They decided, after some discussion, to Zeta to the closest terminal and then figure it out from there.

Clark agreed, grabbing his bag. 

The nearest Zeta was in Wichita, KS. It was a decently sized city, no where near as bustling as Metropolis, but big by Kansan standards.

"I can go from here." Conner said.

"But, I though you couldn't..."

"What direction?"

Clark pointed towards the city edge, and in a second, Conner had kicked of the concrete.

It was an impressive high jump. The kid covered a few acres before landing just outside the city limit, bending the wheat field into a crater around him. He was going to cause a lot of property damage like that. Also, Clark knew that a boy who could leap to the height of a skyscraper would likely draw attention from the public, should any see him. This wasn't metropolis where loose metahumans and aliens were the norm, this was a sleepy town in Kansas who's last UFO encounter was when Clark landed in his parent's cornfield. 

Conner still objected to being carried, and Clark wasn't to fond of touching the kid, but they reluctantly locked wrists, and Clark raised him off the ground. He was surprisingly light, Clark had assumed any other Kryptonian would be pretty heavy, but he was barely more than your average human teen. He adjusted his grip, and kicked off towards home.

It took them nearly until evening  to reach smallville. Conner wriggled for most of the ride, finding it impossible to stay put while being carried. They landed behind the barn. Clark lead the way in the back, acknowledging the animals as he passed.

 It's not that his parents were unsupportive of his heroic lifestyle, but... they didn't even know about Conner yet, he didn't know how they'd react. It was best to keep them separate for now.

"Stay here." He ordered, sitting Conner on a loosely packed hay bale. "I'll come check on you later."

"What do I do?" The kid asked.

"Nothing, if you can."

"But... that's a misnomer." Conner said. "to do nothing is to do something."

Clark took a deep breath, trying not to be irritated by the teen's complete lack of understanding. "Just... stay put and stay quiet." He explained, resting his palm on the dusty hay. "It's... it's safer."

Conner nodded seriously. He sat there and watched Clark leave, closing the barn door behind him.

The barn was dark compared to the bright outdoors, lit by several messily installed yellow lights. There were several animals present, he observed them from his sitting place: Five cows in a pen and a horse in the opposite stable. He decided to call them Cow 1-5, and Horse. Cow 3 was the closest to him, and Conner longed to get up and say hello, but Superman had told him to stay still, so he did, admiring her big wet eyes and sharp, jutting bones from a distance.

"Sweetie," His mother said, standing on her toes to kiss his cheeks, Clark stooped to make it easier, "I didn't see you land."

"I touched down behind the barn." He replied. 

"Pa, Clark's here!" His mother called, pulling him in off the pourch. She didn't seep to notice his concern or mild discomfort.

"Heya, boy, How was the trip?" His dad entered, setting an open book on the kitchen table.

"Ah! Not there, I was just about to lay out dinner." Ma said, moving the book to the coffee table in the next room.

"It was good, it was good." Clark said, wringing his hands. He forced himself to stop, acting natural. "Ma was telling me about the market last week, how'd it go?"

"Oh, well, we're not selling as much now that that big box store came to town," His father sighed. "But out loyal customers are still buying. Even if Gladys has been a bit soft lately..."

Dinner was delicious, it was just reheated chicken soup, but after weeks of Clark's own cooking, it was incredible. Still, it was hard to keep up conversation, he kept finding himself glancing towards the barn. Conner was still sitting on the hay, as he'd left him, but Clark couldn't shake the feeling that he'd get up and move if he looked away even a moment.

After dinner his parents went upstairs for a lie down before locking up the coop. Clark appreciated this, he prepared a modest sandwich and took it across the farm to the barn.

Conner was still sitting there, staring at the cows.

"Food." Clark set it down beside him, turning to leave.

"Can I say hello?" Conner asked suddenly.

"What?" Clark asked, his blood running cold. Was Conner's X-ray vision as good as his own, had he seen Clark dining with his parents? His mind spun with possibilities.

"To the cows." He said. "the bos taurus."

Oh. "Uh, sure."

"I named them." Conner stood, following him to the metal bars of the pen. "Cow one, cow two, cow three, cow four...."

Clark chuckled. "They actually already have names." He replied, stretching his hand between the bars. "Bos!" He called. "Bos!"

The five crowded around the kryptonians. Clark picked a cow and began scratching its chin. "This is Bessie, she's our oldest. Most of the others are her calfs, there's Lilly, there's Bet, and that's Petunia." He smiled a little. "And that last one is Cedar. She's not related to them."

"Do you have any boys?" Conner asked. 

"Not enough space." Clark replied. "Neighbors have some bulls. Every once in a while we organize a meet up in the field."

"Why?"

Clark didn't feel like explaining why. "Eat your sandwich."

Conner sat down again, grabbing his sandwich. "What about the horse?"

Clark laughed a little. "We call him Grey. Short for Grey Ghost." He stood over Conner. "When I was a kid I went to see the new Grey Ghost movie in theatres and I was so excited I wanted to name the fowl..."

Conner chewed pensively. "What's Grey Ghost?"

"A comic book character." Clark explained. "I kind of grew out of it, but the name stuck."

Conner nodded. "Why do you only have one horse?"

"We only need one. He's old though, we don't ride him much."

"Doesn't he get lonely?" Conner asked. "Being the only horse?"

"He's got the cows."

"But Cows aren't horses, they can't understand."

Clark smiled an inch, Conner thought like a kid, personifying animals like he used to. "I guess maybe he does get lonely. Might need a fowl of his own one day."

Conner ate his sandwich in silence. "What if... what if Grey Ghost could fly and the fowl couldn't?"

Oh no. 

Oh no.

Clark cleared his throat. "I guess if horses could fly, that would be a problem... But they can't."

"...I know they can't." Conner grumbled. "But what if... what if the fowl only had three legs and couldn't keep up while running."

"Well, birth defects happen all the time, that's normal." Clark replied. Most farmers put down disabled animals they deemed 'useless', but he decided not to bring that up. "I guess so long as the fowl is a good friend to the horse, that's what matters."

"Okay." Conner said. He finished his meal. Clark took the plate and returned to the farmhouse.

Clark volunteered to lock up the animals that night, partially to keep his parents as far from the barn as possible. He counted the chickens and closed up the coop. He came back in to check on the cows before bed. Conner was sat on the hay still. 

Clark lead the boy up to the loft. "You can sleep up here. This used to be my getaway as a teenager. There's an old bed in the corner, and I think there's some books somewhere..."

"I don't sleep in beds." Conner said.

"I'll... I'll leave that solution up to you." Clark replied. "Sleep tight, I'll come check on you in the morning."

"Okay."

Jonathan couldn't sleep. He sat up with his book for hours, trying to put his finger on what was different than the other times Clark visited...

Clark was always helpful around the farm, but it was strange of him to insist on doing it alone. Sure, be and Martha were getting on in years, but they were still very competent, and Clark knew that. It was strange of him to prioritize locking up the chickens over quality time with them. 

And then there was what happened at Dinner, Clark had kept looking over his shoulder at the wall... or through the wall.

Jonathan got out of bed, wrapped in his robe and long johns, he headed down the stairs. He stared at where Clark had been staring, then out the window: the barn. He'd been staring at the barn.

Then Jonathan noticed something: a light. There was a light on in the loft. Was Clark up visiting his old hideaway? Or was it someone else?

Just to be safe, he grabbed his old gun from the fire cover, creeping across the dewy grass in his slippers.

He unlocked the barn. slipping inside. Grey knickered tiredly at him. Jon shushed him, padding across to the ladder. 

"Who's up there?" He called. "Clark?" There was no response. Clark must have left the light on y mistake. Jonathan started up the ladder, he'd just turn the light off and go back to bed. The ladder was tough on his aging joints, but he could still do it.  

The man reached the top if the ladder, gun still draped over his shoulder, and climbed up into the loft. Clark sat on the bed, book in hand.

No, not Clark. Almost Clark. An ungroomed, short, teenage Clark. He looked up at Jonathan like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, the same way Clark used to look when he'd been caught up past lights out.

Jonathan dropped his gun.