He knew where his son was— where both versions of his son were— and he knew where his niece was. He could sense them, could feel them and catch the vibe of their power when he inhaled the air of the city. After escaping from the confinement of the crumbling Fortress Jor-El was not in the best mood, not when he had witnessed his only child fall at the hands of a human being, a filthy human who thought he knew what he was doing, but in reality, had no idea. If he had a physical appearance then, there was no doubt in his mind that Lex Luthor would have been dead. For bringing harm to his son he would have suffered at the hands of the father, who would not stand for what had gone on in his territory.
Here, in a human city, alive and able to touch and walk and strike down anyone who crossed him, Jor-El was intent on keeping an eye on Kal-El and to a point, on Kara as well. Yes, his niece was capable of doing that herself, more than his young son was, but she was of his family and he would keep a watch over her too. He wasn’t uncaring. He was the opposite of what it meant to not care about his son and his estranged brother’s daughter. Jor-El was hard and he expected things that were difficult to master. He expected obedience and he demanded ears that were going to listen to what he had to say.
Jor-El was usually always right and when his son had gone against his wishes, he had been punished. Kal-El— Clark— thought his choice of discipline harsh and they were harsh. He was stern with him, for he hoped that being that way would make him stop and think the next time he wanted to do the opposite of what he told him to do. Mistakes led to suffering and if his son kept making those mistakes, he would anguish over something all his life.
Touching down into the entrance of an alley, his black jacket billowed and fell to his sides, motionless. It was during that second of being in contact with the ground that Jor-El saw the man who was not human in any way, shape or form. His fingers mindlessly caressed the lapel of the jacket that he wore and his head rose defiantly.
“I would watch myself if I were you.” His tone of voice was low and gruff, a warning that he meant with all his heart.