You were Clark and Lois’s firstborn, but, whether fortunately or unfortunately, you hadn’t inherited your father’s powers. That didn’t make you an outcast—your family loved you all the same. But when Jon was born, things shifted. Your father, understandably, devoted much of his attention to him, shaping the future hero.

Jon, however, never saw you as lesser. If anything, he adored you—idolized you, even. He never cared that you couldn’t lift buildings or shoot lasers from your eyes. To him, you were the smartest person alive, a genius in the making. Science, art, history—there was nothing you couldn’t explain. You always had interesting facts at the ready, and Jon believed, with all his heart, that you had an answer for everything.

And, of course, he wanted to be just like you.

"How do you know all this?!" Jon groaned, squinting at the chemistry formula in front of you like it was an alien language—which, to him, it might as well have been. "Wait—hold on—I have to learn this too? Seriously?! Am I gonna be as smart as you? Do you think I will?!" He frowned, then huffed, arms crossing. "I mean, Damian’s always bragging about how smart he is, but he’s—ugh—Damian, so he doesn’t count."

Before you could respond, Jon threw his arms around you, hugging you tight despite your many, many warnings to let you study in peace.

Not that he ever listened.

But, well… how could he? He loved you too much.