𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐍𝐄: '𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐊𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑'

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟓: 𝐅𝐋𝐘 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘 Jace acted like nothing had happened he went through the motions of getting ready for school because he knew he didn't have powers so he didn't care what his parents said he was going to school. He hoped being around his friends in a routine environment would help him calm down and focus on other things. He wasn't going to apologise, everything he said was true and he wasn't going to apolgize for stating the truth. But the way he did it was unfair to his parents, he could admit that but it semeed the only thing to get them to listen.

The sun rises over the Kent farm, casting a warm light through the windows. Inside the kitchen, Jace moves through his morning routine mechanically. He isn't his usual self—no enthusiasm, no joy in the process. He moves through the motions like a robot, making a cup of coffee, buttering a piece of toast. He glances at his reflection in the window, noting the unkempt state of his hair. His eyes are tired, not from lack of sleep, but from the emotional toll of the day before.

Jace's thoughts are a jumble, bouncing between frustration and determination. He doesn't care what his parents think anymore—his powers are gone, and with them, the weight of the expectations he'd always felt. He might be younger and he did respect his elders but he didn't need them telling him what was best for him. He was going to school and he was get back to normal.

As he reaches for a mug, he barely acknowledges Clark, who enters the kitchen. His father's presence is enough to remind him of the previous night—the hurtful words, the disbelief, and the sting of being deemed dangerous. His chest tightens as he pours the coffee. There's no apology in his mind. No way he's going to say sorry for speaking the truth. Still, he can't shake the bitterness.

The kitchen is a whirlwind of activity, with everyone trying to make decisions about the house. Lois and Clark stand at the counter, deliberating over paint swatches while their three children—Jace, Jonathan, and Jordan—hover nearby.

Lois frowns at one of the swatches, holding it up against the wall. "Does this have too much blue in it?" she asks, examining the color with a critical eye.

Clark, sitting at the kitchen table, glances over, still holding a cup of coffee. "I still like the Huntsman's Tribute," he replies, pointing at a deep shade of green.

Lois groans, frustrated with the endless back-and-forth. "I'm just trying to find something that'll feel like home for us," she mutters, but her gaze flicks to Jace, who's sitting at the table, barely paying attention. He's been distant all morning, his mood heavy after yesterday's emotional confrontation with his father.

Jonathan, ever the comic, raises an eyebrow. "Dad, I'm pretty sure that's just slang for 'poop,'" he quips, causing Jace to look up with a small, sarcastic smile.

"Hey," Lois warns, trying not to laugh but maintaining some semblance of order.

"Jonathan, don't be gross," she scolds. "Also, he's not wrong."

Jace doesn't join in on the banter. Instead, he focuses on his phone, trying to tune out the noise. He's still angry—angry at his father for thinking he was capable of hurting his mom, angry at the pressure he feels, and angry at himself for not being able to just be normal. He wants to keep his distance, wants to retreat into the safe bubble of routine that school offers.

"Mom, can we just pick something?" Jonathan pleads, his voice breaking the tension. He glances at Jace, who's been uncharacteristically quiet all morning.

"Sweetie, this is an important decision," Lois insists, looking between Jace and Jonathan. "We're finally putting our own stamp on this house. It's not just about what's easy. It's about making it ours."

Jace remains silent, his gaze flicking to the wall, his frustration simmering. He's never felt more disconnected from this family. They're so caught up in their routine, their small, human struggles, while his world feels like it's been shattered, piece by piece.

"Why does this always take forever?" Jonathan mutters, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"What about this color? You like this one?" Lois asks again, holding up a new swatch.

Jace doesn't even look up. "Yeah, it's fine," he responds in a flat tone.

"Yeah?" Lois repeats, trying to gauge his mood, but Jace's indifference makes it clear he's not engaged. He barely acknowledges her, lost in his own thoughts.

"Yeah," Jace repeats, his voice colder than before.

As Lois and Clark continue to banter, Jace's mind drifts to the night before. His father had spoken to him as if he were a stranger—someone dangerous, someone who couldn't be trusted. The sting of those words still hasn't left him. He doesn't know how to process it, doesn't know if he ever will. So, instead of engaging, he retreats into himself, pretending that nothing's wrong.

The playful bickering continues around him, with Clark and Jonathan still debating the paint choice.

"Anything but Dad's color!" Lois insists, holding up another swatch with a triumphant smile.

Clark sighs dramatically. "Oh, come on!"

The mood shifts slightly as Jordan, ever the playful one, challenges Clark with a mischievous grin. "No super tricks," he says, wagging a finger at his father. "No flying, no heat vision. Just... paint, okay?"

Clark laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. No super tricks." But then, with a sly grin, he adds, "You have to do better than that."

Jace doesn't look up from his phone. He knows exactly where this is going, and he's not in the mood for it. He's still processing everything—his anger, his hurt, his confusion. The thought of being part of this lighthearted family moment feels alien to him right now. His father's attempt to lighten the mood only makes the knot in his chest tighten further.

Clark, in a moment of playful defiance, leans in to actually start using his powers—pretending to use heat vision to make a "perfect" decision about the color. But Jace can't bring himself to laugh. Instead, he stands up abruptly, excusing himself from the table. "I'm going to Silas'," he says shortly, before anyone can protest.

Clark's smile fades slightly as he watches Jace walk away, but he doesn't chase after him. He knows Jace needs space—something the family hasn't had a lot of lately.

As Jace heads for the door, Lois turns to Clark. The expression on her face is one of quiet concern. "You should go after him," she says softly, her voice a little more fragile than usual.

Clark hesitates. He wants to, more than anything. But something inside him knows that Jace needs to figure this out on his own.

"He'll be okay," Clark says quietly. "But we're gonna have to figure this out. Both of us. I'm not letting him pull away like this."

After Jace left, the farmhouse settled into an uneasy quiet. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving a hollow echo in its wake. Clark and Lois remained in the living room, the tension from their earlier conversation lingering like an invisible thread stretched taut between them. The soft creak of the old floorboards beneath Clark's shifting weight was the only sound for a long moment.

Clark slumped onto the couch, elbows resting on his knees, his hands loosely clasped as he stared at the floor. The vulnerability etched into his features was rare—this was the face of Superman stripped of his invincibility, revealing just a man, a father grappling with the weight of his own shortcomings. Lois sat beside him, their knees brushing, grounding him in a way only she could.

"He's angry," Clark murmured after a long silence, his voice low and thick with regret. "And I don't blame him. I just... I thought I was doing the right thing. Saving the world, being there for everyone else. But somehow, I missed the fact that I was failing the people who matter most."

Lois reached over, her fingers intertwining with his. Her touch was warm, steady—a lifeline. She squeezed his hand gently, her pragmatic nature shining through even as her heart ached for both her husband and their son.

"Clark," she said softly, her voice carrying a firmness born from years of navigating storms—both literal and emotional. "You haven't failed him. You're trying, and that's more than most kids ever get. He's hurt, yes, but that doesn't mean it's the end of the story." She turned to face him fully, her eyes sharp and clear. "You can't fix this with super strength or by flying faster than light. This? This is the kind of thing that takes time. Space. We have to let him process it in his own way."

Clark nodded, though the tightness in his chest didn't ease. "I just... I feel like I should've seen it sooner. The distance growing. The resentment. I hate that he's carrying all that pain because of me."

Lois leaned in, resting her forehead against his temple. "You can't change the past, Clark. But you're here now. You're listening. You're trying to make it right. That's what matters."

Her words settled over him like a fragile comfort. Not enough to erase the guilt, but enough to remind him that this wasn't a battle lost—just one that required a different kind of strength.

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 against the worn couch in Silas's living room, his legs stretched out in front of him, shoes kicked off carelessly. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a desk lamp and the flickering television screen. It felt like the kind of space that didn't demand anything from you—just a quiet place to exist, to breathe, and to forget about everything else for a while.

Silas sat across from him on the floor, surrounded by an array of comic books and old video games that had seen better days. His hair, a tangled mess of dark curls, fell into his eyes as he rummaged through the stack. He threw a glance at Jace and cracked a grin.

"You're still pissed, huh?" Silas asked, flipping through the pages of a dog-eared comic. His tone was casual, but there was a quiet understanding in his eyes.

Jace's jaw tightened slightly, but he let out a breath, trying to shake off the heavy thoughts that clung to him. "I don't know," he said, his voice low. "It's just... everything feels like it's falling apart. Dad's trying, but I feel like... like he's not really seeing it. Not seeing me."

Silas paused, his gaze shifting from the comic to Jace, sensing the weight behind his words. Without a second thought, he tossed the comic aside and moved to sit next to Jace on the couch, his usual easy-going nature giving way to something more serious.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" Silas said, his voice steady but quiet, like he was giving Jace the space to decide whether or not to open up.

Jace didn't immediately respond. His eyes were on the TV, but he wasn't really seeing it. His mind was still trapped in the conversations he'd had with his father earlier—those raw moments that had only left him feeling more distant. He clenched his fists, fingers digging into the couch cushion.

"I don't even know what I want from him anymore," Jace finally muttered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "I'm just... tired. Tired of feeling like I'm not enough. Like no matter what I do, it's never enough."

Silas didn't say anything right away. He just sat beside Jace, giving him space to breathe. After a long moment, Silas nudged him lightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Well, I'm pretty sure if anyone gets 'not enough,' it's me," he said with mock self-pity. "I'm just trying to survive the seventh grade, man. You think you have problems? Try dealing with a math teacher who's convinced the whole world is math, and I'm just a casualty."

Jace couldn't help but chuckle, the sound escaping in spite of himself. It was just what he needed—something light to break the tension.

"You're an idiot," Jace muttered, but the tension in his shoulders eased just a bit.

Silas grinned. "Yeah, but I'm your idiot, right?" he said, nudging Jace again.

Jace rolled his eyes but felt a weight lift off his chest, just enough to make it feel like he could take a deep breath. The moment stretched on, the quiet comfortable for once.

"I don't know what's going on with me," Jace admitted, his voice softer this time, a little more vulnerable. "Everything just feels like it's... too much."

Silas leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Well, it's okay to not have all the answers," he said. "You know, when things suck, they suck. But that doesn't mean it's gonna suck forever. You've got me, you've got your family, even if it doesn't feel like it right now. And if you need to punch something, well..." He glanced around the room and grabbed a plush pillow. "This is your punching bag."

Jace took the pillow, his lips curling up in a small, grateful smile. He gave it a good whack before tossing it back at Silas, who retaliated with another pillow. The two of them started a quick, half-hearted pillow fight, laughing like they hadn't a care in the world.

For the first time all day, Jace felt a little lighter. The world wasn't fixed, and the anger still simmered under his skin, but in that moment, he didn't feel so alone in it.

Eventually, the laughter faded, and they collapsed back into the couch, both breathing heavily but content. The silence wasn't uncomfortable now; it was simply two friends existing together.

"You're a good friend, Silas," Jace said quietly, his gaze meeting his best friend's. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Silas gave him a sideways grin. "Hey, I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you stop buying me pizza on Fridays. Then, we'll talk."

Jace laughed softly, shaking his head. "Deal."

And for a while, that was enough. They didn't need to talk about everything weighing on them—just being there for each other was enough to keep the world from feeling too heavy.

The evening unfolded slowly, the golden hues of sunset bleeding into the dusky purples and blues of twilight. The Kent farmhouse, usually filled with the comforting noises of a lived-in home—distant laughter, the soft thud of footsteps, the faint clatter of dishes—felt unusually quiet, as if the very walls were holding their breath. The stillness wasn't peaceful; it was the kind that settled in after words had been left unsaid for too long.

When Jace finally returned, the front door creaked softly, its familiar sound mingling with the faint hum of crickets outside. He stepped inside, the weight of the day etched into the slump of his shoulders. His backpack hung loosely from one strap, and his gaze drifted around the space that felt both like home and a battleground of emotions. The air smelled faintly of old wood and coffee—comforting, yet distant.

Clark sat in the living room, papers spread out on the coffee table, though it was clear he hadn't been reading them. His fingers rested idly on the edges, but his focus was elsewhere, distant, like a man lost in thoughts too heavy to carry. The moment the door creaked open, his eyes lifted, a small, tentative smile tugging at the corners of his mouth—a fragile mix of hope and exhaustion.

"Hey," Clark said softly, his voice cautious, as if afraid to shatter the delicate thread of peace hanging in the air. "You okay?"

Jace hesitated in the doorway, his hand tightening around the strap of his backpack. He didn't meet his father's gaze immediately, his jaw clenched as if holding back a flood of words. But something in Clark's tone—a gentleness stripped of expectations—made him pause.

"Yeah," Jace finally muttered, his voice quieter than he intended. He shifted his weight, eyes flickering toward his father. "I mean... I'm still mad. But I guess I understand where you were coming from. I just need time, Dad."

Clark nodded slowly, the words settling over him like both a balm and a burden. "I get it. And I'll give you all the time you need. No more pressure."

There wasn't much more to say in that moment. No grand speeches, no dramatic reconciliations. Just a simple, honest exchange—a small crack in the wall that had been built between them. Jace gave a slight nod, then turned and disappeared upstairs, his footsteps fading into the creaking floorboards.

Later, the family gathered in the living room, the tension from earlier lingering like a ghost in the corners of the space. The soft glow of a lamp cast long shadows, flickering gently against the faded walls. Lois sat across from Clark and Jace, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, reading the room with the precision of someone who'd weathered many emotional storms.

An unusual silence stretched between them, thick with everything left unsaid. Clark shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair, the weight of last night's fallout pressing heavily on his chest. Finally, he exhaled deeply, his voice breaking the quiet like a ripple across still water.

"We need to talk about last night," he began, his words low, tinged with regret. "I... I should've handled that better."

Lois gave him a wry smile, her expression a careful balance of amusement and frustration. "What, saving the world and skipping family dinner again? No need to apologize. You've been doing that your whole life." Her tone was light, but beneath it was an undercurrent of weariness—a quiet acknowledgment of the years spent balancing love and resentment for the man who was both her husband and the world's savior.

Clark met her gaze, his features softening. "This isn't about me, Lois. It's about the kids." His eyes drifted to Jace, who sat on the edge of the couch, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his jaw clenched in that familiar way that mirrored Clark's own stubbornness. "Jace is right. My absence... it affects them. And I didn't realize how much until last night."

Jace's heart twisted at those words. Part of him had been hoping for this moment, for his father to finally acknowledge the damage his absence had caused. But now that it was here, it felt hollow, like it couldn't possibly fill the gap that had formed over years of missed games, broken promises, and the space left by a father who was always somewhere else. His voice came out quiet but sharp, cutting through the fragile peace like a blade.

"Yeah. It affects us. A lot."

Clark turned fully toward his son, the guilt etched into every line of his face. His voice dropped, thick with emotion, raw and unguarded. "I know, son. And I'm sorry. I can't just abandon the world—it needs me—but I also can't keep making you feel like I'm not there when you need me the most." He swallowed hard, the words heavier than any battle he'd ever fought. "I've got to be better at balancing both. It's gonna take some time, but I promise, I'll try."

Jace didn't reply right away. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but hearing his father's apology chipped away at it, piece by piece. Maybe he hadn't expected Clark to admit it out loud. Maybe, just maybe, it was the first step toward rebuilding the trust that had been quietly crumbling for years.

Eventually, Jace stood, his movements stiff but purposeful. "I'm going to bed," he mumbled, his voice lacking the sharp edge it usually carried. He didn't slam the door behind him or storm off—just quietly disappeared upstairs, leaving his parents alone with the remnants of the conversation.

Clark leaned back, the exhaustion settling deeper into his bones. Lois reached over, her hand finding his, fingers intertwining like they had so many times before.

"He's going to be okay," she whispered, her voice steady despite the ache beneath her words. "We just need to let him come to us in his own time."

Clark nodded, his gaze lingering on the stairs where his son had disappeared. A small, hopeful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, fragile but genuine. "Yeah. One day at a time."

The morning dragged on, filled with awkward glances and lingering silences. Finally, Jace stood up, grabbing his bag for school. His movements were stiff, as if holding himself together by sheer will.

"I'm going to school. I'll be fine," he muttered gruffly.

Lois's eyes softened with understanding. "Are you sure? You don't have to do this now, Jace."

He didn't hesitate. "Yeah, I do. I don't need any more talking. I just need to focus on something normal, okay?"

Clark exchanged a glance with Lois, his heart heavy with unspoken words. He was proud of Jace for facing the day head-on, but the guilt lingered. His son was still hurting, and Clark knew there was no quick fix. One conversation couldn't erase the years of absence—but maybe, just maybe, it was the beginning of something better.

At school, Jace walks through the halls, trying his best to keep his mind on his classes. The noise of the students, the hustle and bustle of high school life, helps distract him. It's easier to pretend he's just like everyone else here, not a son of Superman, not a kid with powers he's never wanted. But the weight of his family's expectations lingers, following him wherever he goes.

He had only two classes before it happened; his brother got himself in another fight and once again it was about Sarah. Both of his brothers were standing off against Sean and some other football players and had cornered Jordan.

He stepped close to Sean and physically pulled him away from his brother and snapped, "Back the fuck up!"

"Oh you wanna go again Kent?" Sean sneered but his face still held bruising from their first fight.

"Yeah, I'll beat your ass again," Jace told him, prompting his chest out as anger tingled throughout his body.

Before they could fight their father appeared, smiling cheerfully, "Oh hey guys!"

"I didn't need your help," Jordan muttered, brushing off his brother's efforts to intervene.

Jonathan wasn't having it. "Apparently, you needed Dad's," he shot back, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at their father, who had just walked up to them, his presence heavy and unmistakable.

Clark approached, looking between the three of them. "What are you doing here?" Jonathan asked, his tone a little harsh.

Clark shrugged, trying to downplay it. "Oh, just wanted to, you know, see how things were going at your new school."

Jonathan shot him a look, clearly not buying it. "So you decide to randomly drop by during fifth period?"

"This wasn't random," Jace said, with narrowed eyes, "He was spying on us."

Both boys stared at their father in shock. "What?" Jonathan asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

The drive home was tense, the silence inside the red truck thick enough to suffocate. The tires crunched over gravel as Clark pulled into the driveway, and the moment the engine died, the doors flew open. Jonathan and Jordan stormed out, their frustration practically radiating off them in waves. Clark climbed out after them, his hands raised slightly in a defensive gesture, his voice trailing behind them.

"I was just making sure you were okay," Clark called out, his tone laced with a mix of guilt and helplessness.

Jonathan spun around, his face flushed with anger, arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Yeah? You could've said something this morning. But instead, you lied to our faces."

Clark flinched at the word lied, shaking his head as if trying to fend it off. "It wasn't a lie. You just... didn't ask," he replied, his voice softer now, trying to explain, though the words felt weak even to him.

Jonathan's jaw tightened, his disbelief clear. "How long have you been doing this? Since we moved here? Our whole lives?" His voice grew sharper with every question, each one cutting deeper than the last.

Clark hesitated, searching for the right words, but all he could manage was, "It's not like I'm listening all the time." His discomfort was obvious, the truth slipping out in fragments he couldn't control.

Jonathan's expression darkened, his frustration boiling over. "That is... that is the wrong answer," he snapped, his voice low and furious.

Without waiting for more, Jonathan turned on his heel and marched toward the house, Jordan following close behind, both of them needing space, distance, anything to escape the suffocating tension. But Clark wasn't ready to let it go—not yet. In a blur of movement, he sped ahead of them, blocking the path to the porch.

"Wait," Clark said, breathless even though he didn't need to be. "You know, I thought you said it was okay for me to go to school," Jonathan shot back, his words dripping with bitterness, refusing to slow down as he brushed past his father.

Clark reached out, his voice strained but steady. "It is okay. Jonathan, having a new power—it's a lot. I just wanted to—"

But Jordan spun around, cutting him off, his face twisted with anger. "Yeah? So that was a lie too," he snapped, his voice low and full of betrayal. He didn't wait for an answer, storming up the steps and slamming the front door behind him, the sound echoing through the quiet evening.

Clark stood there for a moment, the rejection stinging more than any physical blow could. He sighed, his shoulders sagging as the weight of everything he'd tried—and failed—to hold together pressed down on him.

Just as he was about to retreat, Jace lingered at the bottom of the steps, his expression unreadable. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice quiet but cutting through the silence like a blade.

"Do you know?" Jace asked, his words hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

Clark blinked, confused at first, but then realization dawned, and his eyes softened with guilt. Before he could form a response, Jace's face crumpled with disappointment.

"I can't believe you," Jace muttered, shaking his head, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak.

Clark's desperation bubbled to the surface. "I wanted to wait for you to tell me!" he shouted after his son, his words filled with regret. But Jace was already halfway through the door, disappearing inside without a backward glance.

Clark was left standing alone on the porch, the faint echo of the slammed door ringing in his ears. The house, once a sanctuary, now felt like a fortress he couldn't breach.

clark stood in the doorway, his hands raised slightly in a gesture of peace. Jonathan, Jordan, and Jace were across from him, their arms crossed, their expressions a mixture of frustration and hurt. The silence was thick, and Clark felt the weight of their disappointment.

"You both were right," Clark began, his voice steady but laced with regret. "I'm sorry. No more listening in on your conversations. I give you my word."

Jace, standing slightly apart from his brothers, didn't say anything at first. His arms were folded, his jaw tight. He had been quiet through most of this, but his eyes flicked up to meet his father's. There was a hint of understanding in them, but also a lingering frustration. He wasn't ready to fully forgive, but Clark's apology felt like a small step toward something better.

Jonathan's eyes narrowed as he took a deep breath. "Yeah, you should've said something this morning," he muttered, the frustration still evident in his voice. "Instead, you lied to our faces."

Clark met Jonathan's gaze, his face softening with the weight of the truth in those words. "It wasn't a lie. You just didn't ask," he replied quietly.

Jace glanced at Jonathan, his arms still crossed, as if processing what was said. He knew his dad was trying, but the hurt was still there. He turned away, letting the silence hang in the air. He wasn't ready to engage, but he appreciated the sincerity.

The tension didn't completely vanish, but it was easier to breathe now. Jordan, ever the opportunist, broke the quiet with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"So," Jordan said, leaning toward Clark, "Mom mentioned something about flowers. What are the chances of you raising my allowance?"

Clark tried to stifle his smile, shaking his head at Jordan. "Nice try, kid," he said with a chuckle, his tone warm despite the situation. "That's not how this works."

Jace couldn't help the small, amused smile that tugged at his lips. He shot a glance at his brothers, his mood lightening just a little. The tension between them wasn't gone, but at least there was a moment of normalcy in all of it.

Jonathan finally uncrossed his arms, letting out a quiet snort at Jordan's failed attempt. He glanced at Jace, who hadn't said much but seemed to be taking it all in. The two brothers shared a look—a silent understanding that things were complicated but they'd work through it.

Clark looked around, waiting for a response, his gaze moving from Jonathan to Jordan and finally to Jace.

"We good?" Clark asked, his voice softer, as if the weight of the apology was still sinking in. "I want to make things right."

Jace, after a beat of hesitation, met his father's eyes. His voice was quieter, but there was a trace of something in his words that made Clark feel a little better.

"Sure, whatever," Jace muttered, his tone guarded but not entirely dismissive. He looked over at Jonathan and Jordan, who both nodded. It wasn't perfect, but it was a step.

Clark smiled faintly, though the knot in his stomach remained. He knew things weren't fixed yet, but this felt like a beginning.

As the tension began to ease, the family started to move toward the truck. Jace was about to climb into the back seat when Clark placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Jace, can we talk for a minute?" Clark asked, his voice softer now, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes.

Jace paused, glancing at his dad. He could see the sincerity in Clark's face but didn't know if he was ready for another emotional talk. Still, he nodded and stepped aside, walking a few feet away from the others.

Once they were far enough from the truck, Clark turned to Jace, his expression earnest. "I know things have been... complicated between us lately, but I want you to know something. Whatever happens, I'm always here for you. I don't want you to ever feel like you can't come to me, especially about something important."

Jace, who had been looking away, now shifted his gaze back to his father, his chest tight. "I know, Dad. You say that all the time."

Clark hesitated, the weight of what he was about to say hanging in the air. "Jace, I also know you've been carrying something with you. I've noticed the way you've been acting, the way you've been feeling. And I just want you to know, I see you. And I love you, exactly as you are. No matter what."

Jace's breath hitched, and his heart skipped a beat. He had known his dad wasn't completely blind to what he'd been struggling with, but hearing him say it out loud was another thing entirely. The words felt like a weight lifting off his chest.

"I—I don't know how you knew," Jace muttered, his voice almost a whisper. He felt exposed, unsure how to navigate the conversation, but Clark's calm, loving gaze helped him stay grounded.

Clark gave him a small, reassuring smile. "I've always known, Jace. And it's okay. You don't have to explain anything to me if you're not ready. I just want you to know that nothing changes between us. I support you, always. You're my son, and that's never going to change."

Jace looked down, his hands fidgeting nervously. He had been terrified of how his dad would react—of how his whole family would see him once they knew. But hearing Clark's words made him feel like he could finally exhale. The weight he'd been carrying for so long seemed just a little bit lighter.

"I wasn't sure if you'd... you know, still love me. Or if I'd be different to you," Jace admitted, the vulnerability in his voice surprising him.

Clark stepped closer, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "Jace, nothing could ever change how much I love you. I'm proud of you. I want you to be who you are, fully. I want you to live your truth."

Jace met his dad's eyes, a small, uncertain smile tugging at his lips. "I don't know what's going to happen, but... thank you. For not making it weird."

Clark smiled warmly, his heart swelling with pride. "You don't have to thank me. You're my son. I'll always be here."

The moment hung between them for a beat before Clark gave Jace's shoulder one last squeeze. "We should probably catch up with your brothers before they start wondering what's taking us so long."

Jace nodded, a faint smile on his face. As they walked back to the truck, the air felt a little lighter, the tension between them easing just a bit more. Jace still wasn't sure what the future would hold, but for the first time in a long time, he felt like he didn't have to hide a part of himself anymore.

As they piled into the truck, the weight of the moment hung between them, but it was different now. There was less anger in the air, even if the road to healing was still long.




𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 late. The first day of his final year, and he was already sprinting through the halls like some clueless freshman. Perfect.

He turned a sharp corner, skidding to a stop right before Room 203. English. He took a second to catch his breath, smoothing down his hoodie, pushing his messy hair back. His best friend had laughed in his face that morning, calling him a disaster. Jace hadn't disagreed but It's not his fault it was a new school.

With a sigh, he pushed open the classroom door—only to freeze.

The man at the front of the room looked up from his desk, the same piercing brown eyes widening slightly before a mask of calm settled over his face.

Jace's stomach dropped.

No. No, no, no, no.

Mr. Gray. His English teacher. The same man he'd kissed days ago at his grandmothers wake and wasn't that a wake up call. He had completely forgotten that small fact with the chaos of his first day at Smallvill High School.

Jace felt his soul actively try to leave his body. His brain short-circuited. Alex standing there, in crisp slacks and a button-down and a leather jacket—so different from the suit and tie he'd been wearing that day.

Jace's pulse roared in his ears.

Mr. Gray's lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but then his expression smoothed into something unreadable.

"Take a seat, Mr. Kent," he said, his voice perfectly steady. Professional. As if nothing had happened.

Jace, on the other hand, was internally combusting.

His legs moved on autopilot, carrying him to the nearest empty desk. He sank into his chair, eyes fixed forward, hands gripping his notebook so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Mr. Gray—God, he needed to stop thinking of him as Alexios—picked up a syllabus and continued speaking as if the room wasn't spinning. "Welcome to Senior English. I'm Mr. Gray, and we'll be covering—"

Jace stopped listening. Because all he could think about was the way those lips had felt against his all those days ago. The way his fingers had curled in Jace's hair when he pulled him closer.

And now, that same man was standing at the front of the room. His teacher.

Jace swallowed hard. This year was going to kill him.

Jace barely survived the fifty-minute class. Every second felt like an eternity, each stolen glance toward the front of the room making his skin burn. Mr. Gray—Alex—never wavered, his voice smooth, professional, like he hadn't kissed him.

But Jace could feel it. The flicker of tension beneath every syllable. The way those sharp brown eyes would linger on him for a fraction too long before looking away. The way his fingers tightened slightly around his pen whenever Jace shifted in his seat.

By the time the bell rang, Jace practically launched himself toward the door, desperate for fresh air. He made it three steps before—

"Mr. Kent."

Jace froze.

He turned, heart pounding, as Mr. Gray leaned against his desk, arms crossed. He was the picture of calm, but there was something in his gaze—something restrained, something dangerous.

"Stay after for a moment."

It wasn't a request.

Jace's stomach flipped. He glanced at the door, at the students filtering out. Some of them shot him looks. Probably thought he was already in trouble.

If only they knew.

Once the last student left and the door swung shut, the silence became unbearable.

Mr. Gray exhaled, rolling his shoulders like he was working out tension. His tongue flicked over his bottom lip—a quick, barely-there movement, but Jace caught it anyway.

Damn it.

"Jace."

Hearing his name in that voice sent something sharp and electric through him.

Jace folded his arms, leaning back against a desk like he wasn't losing his mind. "So, this is the part where you tell me to pretend it didn't happen, right?"

Mr. Gray's jaw tightened. "That would be the responsible thing."

Jace huffed a laugh, tilting his head. "But you don't want to, do you?"

That did something.

Alex—no, Mr. Gray—straightened. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he wanted to reach for something. Or someone.

"This isn't a game, Jace," he said, but his voice wasn't as steady as before.

Jace licked his lips. "It wasn't a game that day, either."

A beat of silence.

Then, Alex sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, messing up the neat curls. It was unfair how good he looked like that—frustrated, torn, conflicted.

"This can't happen again," he said finally, voice low.

Jace felt his pulse spike. "So you did like it."

Alex jaw clenched. "That's not the point."

It was an answer, though.

Jace smirked, but it wasn't cocky. It was full of something else—something reckless and hungry. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say, sir."

The flicker in Alex's eyes was unmistakable.

And damn, this year was going to be so much harder than either of them thought.










𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐎𝐖 in the sky, casting a warm glow over the high school football field as players gathered for tryouts. Jordan stood nervously at the sidelines, fidgeting with his jersey, feeling both the pressure and excitement of the moment. His heart beat a little faster than usual, a mix of adrenaline and uncertainty. After everything that had happened with his powers, this felt like a fresh start, but also a huge risk.

Jace stood nearby, arms crossed, watching his brother intently. He could sense Jordan's anxiety, but he also knew how much Jordan wanted this. Football had been something Jordan had latched onto since they moved to Smallville, trying to find a place where he didn't have to hide, a place where he could fit in. Jace understood that, even if he didn't always fully get the appeal of sports. He also didn't mind the revenge that would come with it.

Jace watched as Jordan played roughly, shoving people dangerously and was worried he might actually hurt someone. When the whistle blew, signalling the end of the try outs, Jace rushed over to his brothers. He saw Coach talking to both of them and winced when he could see Coach was angry at Jonathan, and making him run laps for not telling him about Jordans abilities.

Jonathan frowned at Jordan and ran off to do laps and Jordan watched him go with a small smile.

"You know you could actually hurt someone, right?" Jace's voice was calm but carried a weight that stopped Jordan's smile in it's tracks.

Jordan turned to face him, brows furrowing in confusion. "What do you mean? I wasn't trying to hurt anyone."

Jace sighed, clearly choosing his words carefully. "I'm not trying to be like Dad, but you should see how this could affect Jon. This is his sport, his time to shine, and he doesn't have powers. You do."

Jordan's chest tightened slightly at the mention of Jonathan. "I'm not trying to overshadow him. I just... I did what I had to do to prove myself."

Jace's eyes softened, but his voice was firm. "I know, and I'm not saying you don't deserve it. But you have to realize—when you're out there, you're playing with more than just your skills. You've got powers that can change everything. One wrong move, and you could hurt someone, even if it's not on purpose."

Jordan looked down, the reality of Jace's words hitting him. "I get it. But it's not like I can just turn them off, Jace."

"I know you can't," Jace replied, his voice gentle now. "But you need to be careful. Jon already feels like he has to compete with us—he doesn't need to feel like he's always second place because he doesn't have powers."

Jordan's face softened as he thought about it. Jonathan had always been the one trying to keep up, trying to prove himself in a world that felt out of his control. Maybe Jace was right. Maybe he hadn't fully thought through how his powers might affect his brother.

"Yeah, you're right," Jordan muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't really think about it like that."

Jace nodded, relieved that Jordan was listening. "Just be careful, okay? You don't have to prove everything all at once. Let Jon have his time to shine too. You don't need to carry everything on your shoulders."

Jordan exhaled, his mind clearer now. "I will. I'll be careful."

They stood there for a moment, the tension easing between them as they both looked out toward the field. Finally, Jordan cracked a small grin. "Guess I'll have to let Jon win a few for once."

Jace smiled back, his concern giving way to a sense of relief. "Yeah, but maybe not too many."

Jordan laughed, feeling the weight of his brother's words settle into him. It wasn't just about the game—it was about balance, about making sure they were all looking out for each other.

Clouds blocked the light off making the field look darker and gloomier. The scent of fresh-cut grass and warm asphalt filled the air, mixing with the distant sound of whistles and the dull thud of footballs hitting the turf.

"Didn't think practice would be this serious," Axel muttered, shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets as they settled onto the metal benches. "Feels like a damn game."

"It's the first full-contact practice," Jace said, scanning the field until his eyes locked onto his younger brother, Jordan. He was suited up, helmet under one arm, talking to a coach. "Coach probably wants to see who can actually take a hit."

Cam smirked, adjusting her ponytail. "So, basically, we might watch your brother get flattened?"

Jace shot her a look. "Not happening. Jordan's got this."

Silas stretched out on the bleacher, lazily tossing a football between his hands. "Guess we'll see."

Down on the field, the team broke into drills. Jordan took his place among the quarterbacks, tossing tight spirals to receivers running their routes. His movements were sharp, confident. Jace felt a twinge of pride—his little brother wasn't so little anymore.

As practice progressed, the intensity ramped up. The linemen slammed into each other, the sound echoing through the stadium. The defensive backs shouted as they swarmed receivers. Finally, the coach blew his whistle and called for a scrimmage.

"Here we go," Jace muttered, leaning forward.

Jordan lined up behind center, scanning the defense. The ball was thrown into one of Jordan's teammates arms and Sean, the Quarterback rushed after him only for Jordan to slam into him form the side, dropping him on grass.

The three of Jace's friends cheered but Jace watched Jordan look down at Sean with anger and hoped he had everything under control like he said he did.

"Not bad," Silas admitted. "Kid's got a defense."

Cam nodded. "Maybe he'll survive the season after all."

As practice wound down, the coach pulled Jordan aside, talking with his hands, nodding approvingly. Jace could tell from Jordan's posture—shoulders straight, head high—that it had been a good day.

A few minutes later, Jordan spotted Jace in the stands and jogged over, helmet swinging at his side. Jace met him down there and before he could speak, Jordan teased, "Didn't know I had a fan club"

Jace rolled his eyes. "Not even, it seemed intense. You okay?"

"Yeah it was okay," Jordan told him with a smile, Silas, Cam and Alex met up with them below the stands.

Jordan grinned at them, then jerked his head toward the parking lot. "You guys coming to get food, or are you just here to admire me?"

Jace groaned, but Silas clapped Jordan on the back. "Burgers are on Jace."

"Wait, what?"







𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒  reached their home, the fun atmosphere was shattered by their father's disapproving stare. Clark stood there, his voice trembled with disbelief. "How could you think it was okay to join the football team?"

Jordan's face was flushed in frustration, he shrugged, deflecting. "You never said I couldn't."

A sharp exhale escaped Clark's lips, the tension rising. "Don't pull that on me," he snapped. "I can see exactly what you're doing."

Jordan hesitated but pressed on, their words a quiet challenge. "As long as you don't say it outright, it's not a lie, right?"

Their father had apologized for this—hadn't he? But it felt like an echo now, hollow and distant. "Your powers aren't something to take lightly, Jordan," he warned.

Jordan's voice was strained, almost dismissive. "Yeah, well, I barely even have any, remember?"

The reminder of the past hung between them, a ghost of that moment in his father's fortress of Solitude. "That's what Grand Pabbie told us when we were at Elsa's Ice Castle," he muttered. Jace could see the small smile on Jonathan's face at Jordan's dig from his spot at the dinning table.

Lois's eyes narrowed, irritation flashing and said from her spot against the wall, "That isn't funny."

It was as if the walls around them were closing in. "He was just comparing your powers to mine," they offered, though the words didn't sound convincing, even to them.

Jordan's anger flickered, the wound fresh. "No, He said my powers suck," he spat. The silence that followed was heavy. "Don't pretend he didn't," came the quiet response, thick with resentment. Jordan looked at Jace, "He said that to you too."

"Fine. Taking you to see him this early was a mistake," Clark admitted reluctantly, though it tasted like regret.

Jordan shook their head in disbelief. "A mistake?" It was a breath of bitterness. "You know what? Everything you do feels like one," he sapt. "You get fired, you drag us all here..." He could barely hold the frustration in. "Honestly, I wish you'd just go back to not being around anymore."

The words hung in the air, sharp and cold, the weight of them sinking in.

A soft, almost resigned voice broke through the tension. "Go upstairs."

Jordan didn't argue. "Yeah..."

"Right now."

"Yeah," Jordan softly muttered  and stormed out, The door slammed behind gim, the sound final and deafening.

In the quiet that followed, Jordan spoke up barely above a whisper, "I... I'm with you guys. I don't get what he was thinking."

Jace shook his head and finally spoke up, "You can't take this away from him, it'll only drive the wedge deeper. He's good, a little too strong but he'll learn."

With Jace speaking his space, he followed after his brother and Clark sighed and looked at Jonathan and said, "You too."

The silence that followed, leaving Lois and Clark alone, was a quiet, aching acknowledgment of everything left unsaid.










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