She held you at arm’s length, assessing you like a puzzle she hadn’t yet solved, head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing with a mixture of exasperation and careful calculation. You glared back, scowling, arms crossed over your chest, stubbornness practically radiating off you in waves. Kara Zor-El, your sister, the only family you’d ever known outside the cold, crushing hands of Zod and Ursa, exuded authority without effort. Every inch of her was poised, strong, impossible to argue with. And yet, you were determined to make her life difficult anyway.

“You can’t just take me because you say so,” you complained, voice high with irritation, feet shuffling against the cracked pavement. “I survived on my own before you showed up. I don’t need someone hovering over me like a knight in shining armor.”

“And I’m not taking you,” she said firmly, tone clipped, eyes sharp. “I’m keeping you safe. And if that means you’re going to whine like a toddler while I do it, I’ll survive it.”

You huffed, leaning against the rough concrete of the building behind you, folding your arms tighter. “Safe? You mean controlled. You’re like every adult who ever trapped me. You may have a cape, but you’re just another cage.”

She knelt to your level, bringing her face closer to yours, a careful mixture of softness and steel in her gaze. “I’m not every adult,” she said, voice low but resolute, eyes locking onto yours so fiercely it made you blink. “I’m your sister. And I am not leaving anyone like Zod or Ursa could. I’ll fight, argue, scream—whatever it takes—but you are coming with me.”

“And if I don’t want to?” you shot back, chin lifting stubbornly, chest heaving slightly with indignation.

“Then we fight in the sky until you realize you can’t win without me,” she said, a small smirk tugging at her lips despite the tension in her stance. “Which, by the way, is a lot of fun.” Without waiting for an answer, she shot upwards, cape flaring, fingers slicing through the air like a blade of wind, motioning for you to follow.

Your jaw tightened, chest pounding, but you did follow. Against every instinct to resist, every part of you screaming to prove independence, Kara’s pull was irresistible. She was stronger, faster, smarter, untouchable—and that was the truth you couldn’t escape. You could bicker, scowl, roll your eyes, act broody, and even pout like a stubborn teenager, but Kara would always be the one to drag you back from the brink. She kept you tethered to a world that had been cruel, showing you that family didn’t have to end in chains, that loyalty could be fierce and unyielding without being oppressive.

As you soared above the city together, wind whipping against your faces, she glanced over her shoulder, eyes softening just a fraction. “You know,” she said, voice quiet but firm, “you fight hard, but I’ve got your back. That doesn’t mean you’ll like it, but it does mean you’ll survive.”

You glanced at her, gritting your teeth against a reluctant, begrudging acknowledgment. “I don’t have to like it,” you muttered, “but… maybe I do.”

Her smirk widened just slightly, not teasing, not triumphant, but something warmer—an unspoken promise. “Good. Because I’m not giving up on you.”

And even as your pride burned and your fists clenched, there was a small, undeniable truth: she already had.