#think of it being like that old Campbell's chicken noodle soup commercial

[angrybatart]

"Hey, dude! Is that hot chocolate? I love hot chocolate! Can I have some? Hey, did you get taller? Boy, it's hot in here."

"... *looking at the trail of melted snow across the floor* ...Performance is going to have a fit..."

[renaroo]

Chip Off the Old Block

Disclaimer: Batman, Superman and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics. Warnings: Canon-typical violence & language Rating: T Prompt: ( @amariemelody ) YAY! Then, when you have time? Can you do Clark staying home with and caring for Jon b/c Jon caught the Kryptonian-version of a cold and so he has to stay home from school? OMFG, it'd be so cute!!!

A/N: This was fun to write so thank you so much for the prompt

Standing nervously in the doorway, Clark did his best to stay out of Jon’s peripheral vision. A task made only more difficult by the fact that the entire time Lois was sitting on the boy’s bed and trying to keep his attention, Jon was staring directly in Clark’s direction.

Jon did that a lot. Looking to Clark for an emotional baseline, as if he knew that Clark was the weaker link between the two of them. Lois could remain guarded and tough no matter what.

Clark was wringing his hands.

“Well, you’re not going to school today,” Lois decided at last, sighing and taking a thermometer from their son’s mouth. “You are definitely running a fever and your coughs and sneezes almost blow a hole through the ceiling.”

“Aw, Mom, you were never going to let me go to school,” Jon whined with a crackling, hoarse voice. “You said from the start. Why’d you even take my temperature?”

“Because empirical evidence is always good to have in your arsenal,” Lois replied before leaning forward and putting a firm kiss on Jon’s forehead. “Finish your orange juice and get some sleep. When you feel better you can go watch some tv, but I don’t want you pushing yourself.”

“I’m Superboy,” he whined even as he settled into his cocoon of blankets and duvets.

“No, you’re Sickboy and you’re staying home today,” Lois replied, walking out of their son’s room and looking toward Clark with a raised eyebrow. “You doubted my mother’s intuition.”

“No. Maybe,” Clark said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just.. I never caught the flu or got sick when I was growing up, Lois. And Jon’s…”

“Only half Kryptonian and has only had his powers developing recently,” Lois reminded him. “He’s a kid. They get sick sometimes. Germs and whatnot. Not to mention we let him fly to Gotham… who knows what’s in the smog over that city…”

“Lois,” Clark admonished.

“Oh, I’m kidding, Smallville,” she assured him, leaning against the hall wall and crossing her arms.

“I know you are,” Clark replied, exasperated. “I just don’t know how you can! I mean… Jon’s sick and… And that’s…”

“Scary,” Lois replied.

“I’m terrified,” Clark replied with a forced smile.

“That’s being a parent,” Lois assured him. “I’d be more worried if you weren’t being your over protective, worrywart self, Clark.”

He smiled fondly at Lois, still so taken aback by how strong and inspiring his wife could still be after all the years they had been together.

“Which is also why you’re the one staying home today,” Lois said, pushing off the wall and heading toward the bathroom.

“What?” Clark asked critically.

“I’m going to work, you need to stay and take care of Jon because one, Perry’s going to notice me taking off more than you taking off, two, I am not staying at home so that you can text me for updates every twenty seconds, and three, my son’s sneezes can knock me over but you’re more wind resistant.”

Clark suddenly felt less inspired. “Lois, I told you, I’ve never been sick before. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Chicken noodle soup, cough syrup, hydrate him, and, pretending that you’re doing it behind my back, give him a little bit of ice cream when he’s feeling better,” Lois listed off. “It’s real kitsch — you’ll love it.”

“You’re overestimating my abilities here, honey,” Clark replied.

“Oh, I definitely am,” Lois agreed with a laugh.

“Do you want me to text you with updates?” Clark asked, half joking.

Lois looked up dully from getting her clothes together and she pointed warningly at him. “I want only messages of dramatically better or worryingly worse. Anything in between and I’ll block your number, Clark. I can’t worry about my baby while I’m trying to remember how to spell without my main spellchecker there.”

“Curious only has one ‘r’,” Clark joked.

“I love you,” Lois said, leaning up and kissing him. “Don’t let our son’s temperature lead to some sort of nuclear meltdown of our new apartment.”

“Can that happen?” Clark asked seriously.

“Guess we’ll find out!” Lois joked in return.

Clark actually took quite a bit of pride in the fact that he didn’t give into temptation and call Lois until nearly noon. To which he was told yes it was normal that a sickly Jon was still sleeping.

“It just seems like it’s a lot of sleeping,” Clark attempted to explain.

“And that would be considered a good thing by most people’s standards, Smallville,” Lois joked over the phone. “Nothing takes care of a cold quite like sleeping it off.” She sounded distracted and distant. Clark wondered how she knew so much without even being in the apartment. He really had married a true Super Woman. “Have you made chicken noodle soup yet?”

“No,” Clark answered, looking in on Jon one more time.

“Then you should get started on that instead of calling me,” Lois informed him. “Jon’ll need to eat something shen he wakes up, and you obviously need something to distract you that isn’t some kind of world-threatening calamity.”

“I can handle world-threatening calamities,” Clark grumbled, mostly to himself.

“I’m in a writing groove, hon, just relax. You’re my Superman after all, I think you can handle a common cold. Just make sure Jon doesn’t break anything with his sneezes,” Lois warned. “I won’t blame him but I’ll definitely blame you in every argument for the rest of our marriage.”

“Got it,” Clark sighed as Lois hung up.

After getting one last look at his sleeping son, Clark headed to the kitchen and had a good look around. “Alright then,” he said, hands on his hips. “Let’s make chicken noodle soup.”

Perhaps it was a function of Clark having never been all that sick when he was growing up, but the association between soup and sickness always seemed strange to him. Ma never spared an opportunity to make a good soup for them back in Smallville, and like everything else she made it was perfection regardless of the time of year.

Still, he had seen enough Campbell’s commercials to at least know it was a concept that existed.

So he got the pot out, some chicken broth, salt and pepper, debated on noodles for almost five minutes before settling on angel hair, cracked an egg in, diced canned chicken and prayed that neither Pa nor Ma were looking down on him for using canned chicken of all things, and he began making the soup.

Of course, all of that was easier done than said when one had super speed and heat vision moderated to the perfect temperature for the pot.

Standing by the stove with a finished pot of soup, Clark rubbed his chin and wondered what would be best to do with the soup — put it in the oven? Put it on simmer? What would Ma do?

“Is that soup?” a scratchy voice asked from behind Clark.

“Jon, you’re out of bed,” Clark pointed out, turning to look at his scraggly headed, hunched over son. It just about broke his heart, even if it was a ‘mere’ cold. “Yes! I have some soup for you, if you’re feeling up to it.”

Using his full sleeve, Jon lazily wiped at his nose and mouth, making his already red cheeks and nose redder before he sniffed heavily again. “Mmkay,” he responded before sluggishly dragging himself up to the kitchen table and plopping down.

As soon as he was sitting, Jon laid his cheek on the table, facing Clark. He watched as Clark got a bowl from the cabinets and began to pour for him. “Do cities have more germs?”

Clark hesitated before pouring the rest of the chicken noodle soup in the bowl. “More germs than…?”

“Than Hamilton?” Jon asked, lifting his head up lazily when Clark approached with the bowl. “I need a spoon.”

“Right,” Clark replied, putting down the bowl and heading to the utensil drawer. “I believe germs are everywhere you go, Jon. But cities do have more people, which sometimes means they can pass more germs to one another quicker.”

“I knew it,” Jon groaned, laying his head down beside the bowl even when Clark came back with the spoon. “Metropolis is trying to kill me.”

Cracking a smile, Clark forced the spoon into his son’s hand and then took his seat across the table. “Metropolis isn’t trying to kill you. And there probably aren’t more germs per person here either. The problem is… human immune systems need to… adapt. There might not be more germs, but you’re probably exposed to new germs. Which means your immune system was caught off guard and just needs some time to deal with it.”

“Because Metropolis isn’t Hamilton,” Jon concluded, pulling his head off the table and letting it roll back loosely as he looked down at the soup.

“Sounds to me like you and Metropolis need to spend some more quality time with each other,” Clark joked. “Pretty sure she wouldn’t appreciate all this ire directed her way.” He then looked down to the soup and back up to Jon. “If you’re not really feeling hungry, you don’t have to eat right now, Jon. I can just get you some water or orange juice or maybe sprite if your stomach’s upset?”

“No,” he said as he grabbed his spoon and began to stir his soup. He lapsed into silence for a moment before looking to Clark almost mournfully. “Hey, Dad?”

“Yes, Jon?” Clark replied, tilting his head just slightly.

“Will I get used to Metropolis?” Jon asked. “I mean… to its… germs?”

Clark hummed to himself slightly, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. “Well, I never got sick when I moved to the city for the first time, mind you, but I also moved from a small town where I felt like I knew everyone and every thing there was to know around me. And I came here the first time and… well it was like living in an entirely different world. It was as alien to me as the holograms and recordings the Sunstones showed me of Krypton. And for the first few weeks, well, I didn’t even know where to put my foot down to find a footing,” he admitted. “I wasn’t sick, but I was definitely not used to the needs and calls of a city.”

“How did you get used to it?” Jon asked, voice sounding a little stronger as he took his first spoonful of soup into his mouth.

“Well, the lucky thing about us, son, is that when I didn’t find my footing… I remembered I could fly,” he said, thinking back on the early years with a fondness he hadn’t realized he still held for the City of Tomorrow.

“Mom used to move around all the time ‘cuz of Grandpa Sam, right?” Jon asked, continuing to eat. “How’d she get used to Metropolis?”

“I don’t know, she was here winning Pulitzers before I ever came onto the scene,” Clark laughed. “But I know one thing about your mother, when she sees something she wants, when she settles on something she wants to achieve, neither hell nor high-water can keep her from it.” He paused. “Including wanting to get Superman for an exclusive.”

“How’d she do that?” Jon asked.

“She jumped off a roof so I’d catch her,” Clark replied before realizing he was perhaps being a little too honest with their son. He glanced over to Jon’s shocked face. “Um. You should do as your mother says and not as your mother does.”

“At least I can fly,” Jon said, amazed. “Mom can’t but she did it anyway—“

“I didn’t say she was good at risk assessment, Jon, I’m glad you inherited some of my reservations,” Clark laughed, trying to switch subjects as he heard a familiar rhythm from the hallway. “How’s your soup?”

“Okay,” Jon replied.

“Only okay?” Clark asked, trying not to show his surprise.

“Mom’s is better,” Jon informed him.

“Your mother warms up a can of soup. This is homemade,” Clark tried to defend.

“No wonder my ears were burning at the office,” Lois’ voice called from the door as it opened. “Sorry to just drop in. I kept writing the same sentence five times and realized that I couldn’t get any work done knowing my little man of the house was in bed sick.”

“Hi, Mom,” Jon greeted her, melting into her side as she pulled him into a hug against her waist.

Lois then looked perturbed toward Clark. “How else do you make soup if it’s not from a can?” she asked. “Never mind, don’t tell me. It’s in the can because someone else has already perfected it.”

Clark sighed and got up, pulling both of his family into an embrace. “Jon, you might miss Hamilton, but let me assure you, you are every bit the tasteless city slicker that your mother is.”

“Hey!” both Lois and Jon yelled back, half in jest.