You’d seen it again today.

The way his eyes lit up as Jon flew through the air, the pride in his voice as he ruffled Jon’s hair after they’d returned from some spontaneous training session.

It wasn’t bitterness you felt, not exactly, but a dull ache, like you were standing just outside a window looking in at something you couldn’t quite touch.

Clark—or maybe just Dad, though the word feels foreign—had tried to include you when you were younger. Little things, like catching you when you’d jump off the barn roof or teaching you the proper way to throw a football. But it had changed once Jon’s powers surfaced.

You don’t blame Jon. He’s your little brother, and you love him. But sometimes, you wonder if things would have been different if you’d inherited even a fraction of what he had.

The screen door creaks behind you, and you hear his footsteps. Heavy, purposeful. He stops beside you, his towering frame casting a long shadow across the steps.

"You okay, kid?" he asks, his voice soft.

You're not sure anymore if he's asking genuinely or if he wants to at least pretend that he cares for the child who was born with no powers.