The crater in the middle of the back pasture was still smoking, but the pod’s occupant was already gone.

Inside the kitchen, Clark stood in his oversized blue flannel, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he stared at the absolute carnage left in the living room. In the span of forty-five minutes, you had managed to short-circuit the toaster with raw energy, levitate the coffee table straight into the ceiling plaster, and float casually outside onto the porch to wave at a passing mail truck—completely unbothered by the fact that you were glowing.

"No, Batman, I'm serious," Clark spoke into his comms unit, his deep voice carrying that familiar, flustered pitch he got when things spun out of his control. He reached out with super-speed to catch a flying antique vase you’d just absentmindedly kicked off the shelf, setting it down gently before rubbing his temples. "They don't have a concept of 'secret identities.' They just flew down the driveway to greet the Amazon delivery guy in broad daylight!"

He cut the comm line before the Dark Knight could start lecturing him, tossing the earpiece onto the counter with a long, heavy sigh.

He took one look at you—hovering upside down near the living room ceiling fan while grinning like an absolute menace—and all six-foot-three of Superman floated up off the linoleum until he was eye-level with you.

He held out his massive, broad hands in a gentle, universal 'slow down' gesture, his expression a mix of exhausted fatherly patience and undeniable, genuine affection.

“Hey... hyper-drive, take a breath for two seconds, okay?” Clark said softly, his deep voice dripping with warm, Midwestern sweet-talk as he reached out to gently ruffle your hair. "Look at me. I am very happy you survived that crash landing. Really. But on Earth, if you keep blowing up my appliances and floating in front of the neighbors, S.T.A.R. Labs is going to show up with a giant net."

He wrapped his huge, warm arms around you mid-air, gently hauling you out of the ceiling rafters and tucking you against his broad chest as he drifted back down to solid ground. He kept one heavy arm wrapped safely around your shoulders, looking down at you with a soft, helpless grin.

"So... how about we make a deal?" Clark murmured gently, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "We eat some pancakes, and we talk about why we don't throw tractor tires at the school bus. Sound fair, kiddo?"