GreekGreenGlass
patreon
[Raising Kids in DC] Chapter 135: Clark Loses His Farm Inheritance
🕑 Added 2025-02-14 15:18:31 +0000 UTCClark couldn't shake the feeling that Lana was looking at him as if he were a child.
Yet, when she looked at the Godfather, there was a different kind of meaning in her gaze.
Even though Lana was the same age as him, he couldn't understand why he felt such a difference.
"Weren't you feeling unwell?"
Nell was surprised to see Lana coming downstairs and asked her.
"I'm fine now, Auntie," Lana replied with a smile, sitting down on the couch beside her.
She then looked across at Peter and said, "Uncle Patrick, I didn't witness the conflict between Clark and John yesterday. I had already left the farm before they clashed."
Hearing Lana's words, Clark let out a sigh of relief.
He had no idea how to explain the situation, so knowing that Lana hadn't seen his superpowered battle with John lifted a huge weight off his chest.
John, however, wasn't as naïve as Clark. He eyed Lana suspiciously.
Although he hadn't paid much attention to her movements, he was certain she had left after his fight with Clark had already begun.
"That's good to hear."
Peter gave Lana a deep look.
He could sense an aura emanating from her—one that was strikingly similar to that of Ms. Katie.
There was no doubt that Lana had some connection with a witch, whether she had been directly possessed or merely influenced in some way.
He sniffed the air and caught a strange scent lingering in the room.
Noticing Peter's reaction, Nell took the initiative to explain, "Lana has recently become obsessed with chemical extraction. She says these experiments are meaningful, so she's been tinkering with a lot of things at home."
"Actually, I've been studying 16th-century alchemy," Lana added. "I think it might help with my chemistry class."
Clark and John exchanged a glance upon hearing Lana's peculiar new hobby.
"I think you guys might find this interesting," Lana said with a smile.
"Maybe you could tell us more about it, Lana," Nell suggested, clearing her throat to keep the conversation going.
"Of course," Lana replied, flipping open her notebook. "For example, this stone here was known as the Philosopher's Stone, also called the Magestone. Alchemists believed it possessed incredible power—the power to control the entire world."
Clark frowned as he looked at the rhombus-shaped stone sketched in Lana's notebook.
He rubbed his forehead. Something about it felt familiar.
After thinking for a moment, he realized he had seen the same stone in his dreams—alongside a spaceship.
Peter, meanwhile, stared intently at the drawing, lost in thought.
After a long pause, he looked up at Lana.
For a brief moment, Lana felt as if something terrifying had set its gaze upon her.
The strange feeling continued to linger in Clark's mind, even after they left Nell's farm.
It wasn't until they arrived back at the Kent farm that Clark finally snapped out of his thoughts.
"Godfather, does the Philosopher's Stone really exist?"
He asked Peter in confusion.
"I don't know. I'm no alchemist," Peter replied, shaking his head. "But I don't believe in the idea that possessing the Philosopher's Stone means possessing the world."
"Dad," John chimed in immediately, "I agree. For me, having you is the same as having the whole world."
Peter looked at the little bootlicker in astonishment.
Was this kid afraid he'd be punished for yesterday's incident, so he was trying to butter him up?
Clark was equally surprised by John's sudden outburst.
"Uh…"
Scratching his head, Clark turned to Peter and said, "Godfather, you and my parents are my whole world, too."
Peter: "…"
"You still have your biological parents," John added, his tone carrying a hint of amusement.
Clark froze.
"I…"
For a moment, he hesitated, then glanced at Peter somewhat guiltily. "My biological parents don't really matter. After all, they abandoned me."
Peter was stunned.
When did this kid find out that Jonathan and Martha weren't his biological parents?
"Clark, who told you that you were adopted?"
"I… I overheard it," Clark admitted, avoiding Peter's gaze.
"You eavesdropped on your parents' conversation?"
"I'm sorry, Godfather. I didn't mean to."
Clark ignored John's little "betrayal" and quickly explained, "I never told anyone. Mom and Dad don't know that I know either. But when I wore the red Kryptonite ring that one time, I couldn't control myself… and I accidentally blurted it out."
"I see…"
After hearing Clark's explanation, Peter fell into deep thought.
Since Clark had already learned this much, it wouldn't be long before he discovered his Kryptonian origins as well.
Clark looked a little down, but then he suddenly brightened and asked expectantly, "Godfather, can I ask you something?"
"What is it?"
"Are… are you my real father?"
Clark finally voiced the question that had plagued him since childhood.
John immediately perked up his ears, eager to hear the answer.
Peter looked at Clark's hopeful eyes, sighed, and ruffled his hair.
"No, Clark. I'm not."
He could have lied to Clark, but eventually, Clark would find the Kryptonian ship in the Arctic, learn the truth about his origins, and leave the farm and Smallville behind.
Hearing Peter's denial, Clark's eyes filled with disappointment, and his whole demeanor sank.
Meanwhile, John, upon hearing Peter's answer, finally felt a weight lift off his chest.
Great! Clark can finally give up on this idea.
From childhood, Clark had always been his rival, yet he lost so easily. John couldn't help but feel immense joy.
But after the victory, a sense of emptiness crept in.
Although he wanted to laugh, the presence of his father beside him forced him to maintain a serious expression.
However, the uncontrollable curve at the corner of his mouth still betrayed his true feelings.
During lunch, Clark still hadn't recovered from his disappointment.
Sitting atop the windmill, his legs dangled idly as he stared at the lush cornfields on the farm.
He felt as if his entire body was sinking into thick syrup—or like a mosquito trapped in solidified amber.
"Not in a good mood, Clark?"
Peter's voice came from behind him.
"Godfather?"
Clark turned around abruptly and saw Peter standing there.
"No, I just… I just feel lost."
Lowering his head, Clark murmured, "I don't know where I come from or where I'm supposed to go."
"At first, I thought you were my father. We share the same abilities, and you were the one who taught me how to understand myself, how to control my powers, and how not to be hurt because of my differences."
Clark bit his lip. "But now, you've told me that's not the case. It feels like I've suddenly lost something important."
"Our relationship doesn't change because of that, Clark."
Peter ruffled his hair. "I have always seen you as my own child."
"Then, Godfather, what kind of person do you think I am?"
Clark looked at him with hopeful eyes.
"I once knew someone who had extraordinary power," Peter began. "But when faced with ordinary people—even the most ill-tempered ones—he never argued. Most people, when confronted, would snap back, turning a minor disagreement into a fierce debate, exchanging sharp words until both sides were left hurt—like a malicious game of badminton, where each player aimed straight for the other's eyes."
Peter paused before continuing. "But he never fanned the flames. He never added fuel to the fire. He was like a master of Tai Chi, always diffusing tension. Or perhaps a Zen monk, detached from worldly conflicts."
Clark pondered over Peter's words. "Godfather, I think this person must be someone who knows what they're fighting for, right?"
"Yes, he knows."
Peter sat beside him. "And that's the Clark Patrick Kent I see—the person I hope you will become. Someone who possesses great power yet always knows who that power is meant to serve. Someone kind and noble, never lost."
"Even if you feel lost for a while, as long as the hope in your heart remains, you will never truly lose your way. Don't you agree?"
As he spoke, Peter traced an "S" on Clark's chest.
Clark could almost feel it glowing. Looking into his godfather's encouraging eyes, his mood suddenly didn't seem so terrible anymore.
Meanwhile…
In his room, John hesitated.
Although he was pleased that Clark had lost the right to inherit the farm, seeing him so dejected left him feeling uneasy.
"Whatever, this has nothing to do with me. Clark even pushed me away yesterday. I should be happy, shouldn't I?"
Taking a deep breath, John looked at his reflection in the mirror.
But the person staring back at him didn't look happy at all.
With a heavy sigh, John flopped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling.
Having grown up together as brothers, he couldn't just ignore Clark's pain.
A hidden truth…
Maybe he could help Clark uncover the secrets of his origins.
The secret room!
The idea struck him like lightning, and John jumped out of bed.
But in his excitement, he accidentally crashed into his desk, breaking off one of its corners with a loud thud.
Late at night.
Clark was fast asleep in his bed.
With a soft creak, the door slowly opened, and a shadowy figure slipped inside.
Clark shifted in his sleep, turning over. Through his drowsy haze, he vaguely saw someone standing by his bed.
Startled, he nearly jumped up.
"Shh! It's me, Clark! Don't make a sound!"
"…Who?"
Clark mumbled groggily.
"It's me—John."
