Kryptonite and Scooter Ankles ||J. Kent ||

Part 4:

A/N: *screams in cruddy plot and degrading writing* 

I spent way too long coming up with an age timeline to actually duck out now ... 

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Flying all the way to Hamilton County was freeing, even if Jon refused to acknowledge it.

Getting out of the apartment wasn't easy. It required strength and motivation he wasn't sure he had until he forced himself into the air. It never occurred to tell his dad where he was going. Part of him even thought he wouldn't care.

Over the course of three hundred miles, Jon watched the landscape swiftly change from snowy skylines to rolling fields of dead and brown under thickening layers of killer frost.

The County brought little warmth, knowing he was somewhere he used to love unconditionally. It was his home. Jon landed heavily in front of the porch of a small yellow house on the Brandon Dairy Farm. The December chill bit right through his coat.

He carried himself up the porch steps, and knocked on the paint chipped front door. "Kathy?"

There wasn't an answer, so he didn't try again. It was early on in the day anyway; Kathy was most likely out in town.

Jon sat on the top step, and let himself see his trembling hands. Ever since he had talked with his dad — after everything he'd said to him — he hadn't stopped shaking. He felt awful for what he'd admitted out loud; for being the reason his dad looked so hurt by him.

Jon knew he didn't deserve that good of a father. He was a screw up, honestly. Unable to remain in control, and because of it, he'd hurt others and himself on multiple occasions. He was the reason strangers showed up with whole arsenals of weaponry to take out full fledged Kryptonians — because they either wanted to brainwash him, or have him killed for his powerful potential. So many times individuals had come to kill him because they'd seen a future where he turned on mankind.

And maybe they were right.

Jon sure didn't feel like it was safe to be around anyone, not even himself.

He needed to move before he did something incredibly stupid. He was on his feet a millisecond before he could form a proper thought. That was the thing about super-speed; it came when it came, and a compulsive mind could mean the difference between anything. All it took was the vague idea of an action to get your body into motion — Kryptionian's were built to do, not think.

Jon found himself in the barn, looking around the dark interior for something, anything, familiar to take his mind off of — well, he didn't know. He just knew he needed something to do. There wasn't much in the barn, just tools, hay bales and Bessie, the prize winning cow in her stall. There was a rusty lawn mower by the back, and a tall stack of chopped wood against the wall by the front doors. There were also bikes. Jon lifted one, and wheeled it out into the sun. He was sure Kathy wouldn't mind if he biked without her.

Plus, making giant skid marks was an easy, simple way to pass time.

He jumped on, and took off hard down the gravel drive. Nothing could beat flying, but something about being stuck on the ground like this held a small thrill. He jammed back on the brakes, driving deep gouges into the ground. The speed of his stop sent Jon halfway over the handlebars, and he tumbled a few feet forward, tearing holes in his jeans; rocks scraped skin from his hands and knees.

'Friggen useless,' He thought, brushing frost bitten dirt from his stinging palms. The burns from earlier hadn't fully healed, and now he suspected they'd take a little while longer. He couldn't even ride a bike without getting hurt. 'At least it's me, and not someone else —"