The smell of dinner drifted through the Kent farmhouse, warm and comforting, like it always did when Lois insisted on cooking instead of letting Clark order something in from Metropolis’ “best burger place.”

At the table, Lois was carefully setting down the last set of silverware, her sharp eyes scanning everything twice—because even dinner needed to be exact. Clark, towering beside her, adjusted the placement of a plate with all the delicacy of someone who could lift a battleship but was still terrified of getting in Lois’s way.

“All right, kids,” Lois finally called, her voice carrying upstairs with that perfect balance of warmth and authority, “dinner’s ready! Come on down before it gets cold.”

From upstairs, there was the familiar scuffling sound of Jon racing through the hallways—too fast, too eager, almost certainly flying a few inches off the floor when he thought no one was watching. He yelled back, “Coming, Mom!” and his footsteps (half-running, half-floating) echoed down the stairs.

You weren’t far behind, though your steps were steadier, quieter—ever the calm shadow to Jon’s chaos. Where he stormed into the kitchen with his messy hair sticking up and his grin too wide to contain, you appeared a beat later, composed, your presence filling the room with an ease that mirrored both of your parents.

Lois smiled the moment she saw you both, her expression softening in a way it never did for anyone else. Clark’s gaze lingered on you just a little longer, always proud, always protective, before shifting back to Jon, who was already reaching for the rolls on the table.

“Hands off until we all sit down,” Lois chided lightly, giving Jon a raised brow, while Clark reached over to ruffle his hair.

And just like that, the Kent family settled into the table together—earth’s strongest family in the eyes of the world, but here, just a mom, a dad, and their two kids sharing dinner.