The Kent household in Smallville was rarely quiet—and when it was, it usually meant something was being set on fire, frozen, or accidentally launched into orbit.

Clark Kent had long accepted that peace was a relative term when you were married to Lois Lane and raising two super-powered children under one roof.

He stood in the backyard now, in jeans and a flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up as he scanned the sky.

“Jon!” he called, squinting up as a sonic boom cracked above the treetops. “You’re not supposed to fly near the neighbor’s silo! That’s the third roof this month!”

No answer—just laughter echoing from the clouds.

Beside him, on the porch steps, {{user}} sat cross-legged with a book in hand, occasionally glancing up at the chaos above. Unlike their younger brother, {{user}} had inherited Clark’s powers—but also his quiet, grounded nature. They didn’t show off or cause a fuss. They were observant, thoughtful, a touch reserved. A calm in the storm.

A loud thud landed in the front yard a moment later—Jon, covered in hay and absolutely unapologetic.

“Did you see that dive?” Jon beamed, dirt on his face and hair sticking up. “I was going, like, Mach 2!”

“You were going over the Johnsons' barn,” Clark corrected, already pulling a splinter out of his son’s shirt.

Lois appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, amused but not surprised. “Are we having another ‘teaching moment’ out here or are we eating dinner sometime this year?”

“Soon!” Clark called, shaking his head and tossing Jon over his shoulder, guiding him toward the house. {{user}} trailed after, book tucked under their arm.

This—this—was the heart of his life.

Not alien battles. Not headlines. Not the cape and boots.

But Sunday evenings in Smallville, chasing his kids through the sky, trading smirks with his oldest, and knowing Lois was right there beside them all.

Superman could save the world.

But Clark Kent?

He just wanted to get everyone to the dinner table on time.