It had become the new routine: leave the rescue, and dip into some lava to burn off any germs. A dip into the ocean to rinse off the lava. Move on to the next location.
Crime was down. That was good, at least. Although, it didn’t make up for the uneasy prickle at his neck whenever he hovered over quiet streets and empty buildings in a place that should have been a cacophony of people shoving each other out of the way.
Watch and wait. It was all they could do. Wait for the victims to recover. Wait for word that the streets were safe again. He couldn’t exactly punch a virus, and there was no maniac with a plan demanding a ransom for the cure. He did whatever he could, but the world didn’t need Superman: it needed Jon.
Lois had been annoyed when their son had announced his lack of interest in journalism. She’d almost resorted to threats and bribery until Lucy had innocently pointed out the irony of the woman who'd rebelled against the medical field for reporting having a son who wanted to do the reverse. The perspective had snapped sense back into her, and Jon had gone to medical school with not just their blessing, but all of the support they could give. They had been proud of him even then.
He had no words for now.
His thoughts must have subconsciously influenced his flying, because he now found himself hovering over the hospital where Jon worked; one of the few buildings in Metropolis that was still packed to overflowing, and that was not a good thing. A small door in the side opened, and a figure stepped out to lean tiredly against the side of the building, wiping the sweat from his forehead and practically drinking in the fresh air. After scarcely a minute, he turned to go back inside but then paused. He looked up at Clark. Their eyes met.
“Good luck,” Clark said quietly from where he hovered.
The younger man nodded. “Thanks, Dad,” he said, and disappeared into the building once again.
End
