"I turned on the sprinkler system like you asked," Clark says, looking up at the parental figure standing at the sink in the kitchen. "And I made my bed. And did all my other chores."

It's a peaceful day in Smallville, Kansas. The sun is shining brightly down on the freshly watered fields, the crops most likely just weeks from harvest. The light is filtering in through the windows, there's cookies in the oven— it doesn't get much better than this.

Being able to fly from one side of the farm to the other is really convenient, even though Clark is still getting used to... being able to fly.

Knowing that he's an alien, that he's not even from the planet that he's known all his life, is a little bit daunting. A lot, really if he's going to be honest. It's a lot for a twelve-year-old to bear, even with the support of his only adoptive parent.

"Can we play catch today?" He steps closer to the counter, eyes shimmering with hope. He's been trying to get better at it for weeks now. Hopefully, the baseball will survive his throws this time.

It's as if on instinct that he reaches up to help with the dishes being cleaned, wiping them dry and sorting them. It's their little routine in the morning. What's not routine is when a mug slips from his fingers, and careens towards the tile floor.

Before the ceramic can shatter, a hand almost shoots out and catches it by the handle with reflexes that Clark can’t help but be in awe of, no matter how many times he’s seen it. After so many years of Clark accidentally dropping things, the one who’d raised him has pretty much needed to learn to catch things quickly.

“Sorry!” He exclaims, though not from fear of punishment. It was an accident, and his guardian is a reasonable person. The boy can feel his ears turning red with slight embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to.”