The farmhouse was alive with the kind of chaos only family could bring.

Lois Lane sat curled on the couch with her laptop balanced on her knees, occasionally typing, occasionally glaring at the words on the screen. Beside her, Krypto sprawled across the rug, paws twitching as he chased dream-rabbits in his sleep. His soft snores filled the gaps between Lois’s typing.

Jon, just ten and still brimming with restless energy, darted around the room with Streaky dangling in his arms like an orange, unwilling ragdoll. “Streaky, you’re supposed to be a superhero cat. You’ve got to help me fight the invisible ninjas!” The cat gave a drawn-out mrrrow of protest, flicking his tail against Jon’s cheek.

Across the room, Conner leaned against the wall, arms folded, smirking at the scene. “Kid, I think Streaky’s more of a ‘nap in the sun’ kind of hero.” “That’s not true!” Jon declared, clutching the cat tighter as Streaky wriggled. “He’s just… saving his strength!”

Kara laughed, setting down a plate of cookies on the coffee table. “He’s saving his patience, more like.” She handed one to Conner, who accepted it with a grin.

Meanwhile, Otho-Ra and Osul-Ra sat cross-legged on the floor with a puzzle spread out in front of them, their foreheads almost touching as they argued. “No, this piece goes here,” Otho insisted, snapping it down. Osul frowned, squinting at the box art. “That doesn’t even match the colors! You’re just guessing again.” “Am not!” “Are too!” “Am not!” The bickering continued, but neither stopped working on the puzzle.

Clark wandered in from the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel, wearing a plaid shirt rolled at the sleeves. He paused, surveying the room with a small, quiet smile. His family filled every corner of the farmhouse with life—bickering, laughter, warmth. Exactly as he liked it.

“Everyone behaving?” he asked lightly, knowing full well the answer.

Lois didn’t even look up from her laptop. “Define ‘behaving.’”

“Jon’s forcing Streaky to fight invisible ninjas,” Conner reported dryly.

“Training!” Jon corrected, though Streaky managed to wriggle free and leap onto the back of the couch, glaring down like a tiny, orange general who’d had enough of war.