Disclaimer: I don't own Superman or Clark or Lois or Jason or any of these people. I think, for the most part, they belong to DC Comics. I was merely inspired by Superman Returns.

Like Father, Like Son

a Superman story by ljparis

Jason White always pretended that he never heard what his mother whispered to Superman in the hospital when no one thought he was going to survive. He pretended that, at five years old, idolizing the superhero that saved him and his mom and dad, he had imagined that his mother had bent down next to Superman, lowered her voice, and told him that he, Jason, was Superman's son.

He stood on the other side of the room, his fingers tracing the large S emblazed on Superman's suit. It felt rubbery, like the kickball in gym class. The cape was smooth though, almost like his mother's silk shirts, but thicker. He heard his mother talking, heard every word. He looked at her once; she was bent over the bed, hand on Superman's chest, hair over her shoulders. She didn't seem to know he was looking at her.

And she didn't know he heard her tell Superman he was Jason's father either, but then again Jason didn't really believe he'd ever heard it. That's what he kept telling himself, even later that night when he thought he heard Superman call him his son in his bedroom while he was sleeping.

It was a dream – wishful thinking that he only remembered once he felt the breeze and ran to the window to find Superman hovering over the river. "Good night!" he had called out, confused at the blurry line between his dream and reality.

The next morning he had practically forgotten all about it. He was, after all, five years old and more concerned with science and mixing fruits and milk in the blender with his dad. He also liked sitting on the dock beside Dad's plane and letting his toes drag in the water. He liked crashing around the Daily Planet's office with a wastebasket on his head like a monster, growling and knocking over staplers. He even liked drawing pictures on Mr. Clark's desk when Mom and Dad were out on an assignment.

Every so often, when Superman was on the news, rescuing more people like he had Jason and his parents, Jason would hear a strong voice in his mind: You will make my strength your own. You will see my life through your eyes, as your life will be seen through mine. The son becomes the father. And the father, the son.

But it didn't mean anything to Jason, not when there were more important things like sharpening his blue crayon so he could draw Superman or sneaking a bite of his mom's egg roll even though he knew it would make him sick later.

So he pretended he hadn't heard the whisper or heard Superman in his dreams and instead lived his life as normal Jason White, son of Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter Lois Lane and Daily Planet assistant editor Richard White. That was enough for Jason.

Concentrating in class was becoming increasingly difficult, Jason realized, as he stared at the chemistry exam in front of him and realized all he could focus on were his classmates' self-murmurings or the teachers down the hall and across the hall lecturing on subjects that weren't chemistry. If he could zero in on a chemistry teacher, though, he wouldn't be having the problem of not knowing the exam answers. But Jason knew even if he could find another chemistry class, he wouldn't cheat like that. He couldn't; it wasn't in his nature to use his super-hearing that way.

He took a deep breath. "Okay, right, Jason, relax," he whispered to himself, but he could feel the pen in his hand bending under the pressure of his stress. He closed his eyes and willed himself to relax.

Finally, he inched the tip of his pen to the space under the first question and began working. As long as he read each question under his breath and kept his hearing focused on the classical music flowing in from the teachers' lounge, he could work well enough on his exam.

The superhuman powers Jason had pretended he would never develop had been strengthening since the start of high school. It seemed that with the onset of his human maturity (pimple break-outs, a deeper voice, hormones) and freshman year starting, also came an additional set of problems – his Kryptonian powers.

Jason didn't want to tell his mom about it; he wasn't supposed to even suspect that his dad wasn't his dad. But he couldn't just let what was happening to him keep happening to him. What would happen if next time instead of a hole in the wall the whole thing came down? How would he explain that?

After his test he hurried out of the classroom, head down. He ducked to the left and immediately out the nearest door. Chemistry was last period, thankfully, and Jason could run into the sunshine almost immediately.

The sun always made him feel better, no matter what was wrong. A moment's sunlight shining across his face could change his mood from sour to immediate relief. There were days Jason ached for the sun, ached to feel its warm rays and take comfort in its heat. He couldn't explain it like he could explain his super powers as genetic from his real father, though he suspected somewhere inside him that the two were related.

He stepped outside and lifted his face into the sun, and he smiled. He could hear his schoolmates' conversations louder and clearer outside, and he could hear the man on the cell phone in his car as he sped past and the NPR program on his car radio. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

His mother constantly reminded him that Superman was "always around" – all Jason had to do was say his name. She never elaborated or mentioned why Jason might be special enough to warrant a private audience from the man of steel, and Jason never asked. He also never called for Superman, not even when he was still young and idolizing him and all he wanted was for Superman to fly him high in the sky like he had when he'd saved him and Mom and Dad from Lex Luthor.

Even though Jason never asked Superman to drop by, that didn't mean his mom never did. In fact, Lois and Superman made it a point that Superman see Jason whenever he could, under the guise of a strange friendship like Lois and Superman had once shared. Jason knew never to question the visits, and no one ever told him Superman was his father.

Once, when Jason was in grade school, he almost asked his mom about Superman; it was right after Superman saved a boy about Jason's age from drowning in the ocean. Then, a few years later while he was mad at being grounded, Jason almost yelled at his dad, yelled that he didn't have to listen to him because he wasn't his real father, but something held him back and he didn't. So, like he had when he was five years old, after he stood in a barren hospital room and heard his mother tell Superman he had a son, Jason continued pretending Richard White was his father and he didn't suspect otherwise.

Jason stopped at the curb and looked at the Metropolis skyline in the distance. Softly, just under his breath, he spoke. "Superman. It's Jason. I feel dumb asking like this, but can we talk? I'll be home in ten minutes and Mom's still at work." He narrowed his eyes at the tops of the tallest buildings, half expecting to see a flash of red and blue streaking through the sky, but he saw nothing. Unsure whether he was upset about that or not, he turned down the street and walked home.