Mrs. Kent was already dishing out their food when they returned. "How hungry are you?"

Conner didn't know what the right answer was; he had been so nervous he hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday, but that seemed like a vulnerable piece of information to share. "I'm not hungry," he said as Clark sat him down across from Mr. Kent.

"Well don't feel like you have to finish it." She set a small plate with grilled sandwich on it next to the steaming hot bowl of soup on the table before him.

Almost instantly as the smell hit of oil and melting cheese hit Conner, he felt saliva starting to spill over his cracked lips. He swallowed hard. 

Would they think he was rude for eating it? Robin said that typically at sit-down meals you wait for everyone to sit down before starting. Frankly, Conner couldn't tell you the difference between a sit-down meal and a regular meal where you sit down, but he trusted Robin.

Still, he stared at the meal longingly.

"I don't suppose you're religious?" Mr. Kent said suddenly. "What with your... unorthodox entry to the world."

Clark stared at his father anxiously.

Robin had told Conner not to talk about religion or politics, but he couldn't just avoid the whole question incase his host took offense. He thought over his answer very carefully, trying to mimic how he thought Kaldur would say it: "I believe in what can be scientifically proven."

"Fair enough," Mr. Kent said, offloading another bowl from his wife. "We won't make you say grace, then."

Clark sighed in relief, though Conner wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting. 

"Would you like some water or milk with your lunch, sweetie?" Mrs. Kent asked. Conner stared up at her and nodded slightly. "Which one would you like?"

"Water." Conner mumbled.

"You have to speak up, darling, my ears aren't what they were."

Suddenly it was very uncomfortable to look at her or Mr. Kent. He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. Conner looked at the table, and then the floor, and then at Clark.

His big brother seemed to understand; "he asked for water."

Mrs. Kent furnished him with a drink and they all sat down.

"Alright, let's dig in." Mr. Kent announced. 

Clark seemed to go at the sandwich normally, without cutlery, so Conner did the same, even though Robin had warned him that eating with your hands was sometimes impolite.

He reached forward and tore off a piece of the sandwich. It was so much more tender and fuller than anything he or M'gann had been able to scrape together in the mountain's kitchenette.

He bit down and almost moaned with contentment. It tasted even better than when the team got takeout.

Before he knew what he was doing, he'd wolfed down one half the sandwich and was was making good progress on the other.

"So much for 'not hungry'." Mr. Kent laughed, snapping him out of his fervor. Suddenly remembering who he was around, Conner dropped the sandwich and fumbled to wipe his hands-- accidentally defaulting to wiping them on his clean shirt.

He started to apologize, but his mouth had completely dried up. His hand shot forward to grab his cup of water. He overshot, knocking the glass over, flooding his hostess' placemat.

He jumped to his feet, horrified. He lunged forward to pick the glass up and...

A splitting snap filled the little kitchen.

Conner's eyes sunk down to the obliterated glass in his fist. He sprung back, dropping glass slivers all over the table.

The entire table was silent, all eyes locked on his fist. Conner's breath had halted all together, his face draining of colour; everything seemed to have drifted into slow-motion.

Conner took a step back, then another, then another, then he must have turned on his heel and escaped outside, because by the time he realized what he was doing, he was slamming the door behind him.

There was a hollow crack as the door closed. Turning, Conned saw a long hairline fracture lacing up the yellow-painted front  door

He staggered back, away from the house. His head felt cloudy and congested from lack of freshly oxidized blood; he forced himself to start breathing again, but lightly and shallowly.

There was a small building not far away which appeared to be a poultry coop. Conner swayed over as fast as he could, dodging the wire enclosure and chickens, hiding behind the low structure.

He'd ruined it.

He'd known he would ruin it somehow.

Not only was he rude at the table, he'd broken something and then ran away.

He'd broken something belonging to Superman's parents, there's no way they'd want him back anywhere near them or the house after he'd accidentally exposed his explosively uncontrollable powers. 

He was uncontrollable, he was lacking in basic restraint and preservation, he couldn't even make it through a half-day visit without breaking something.

He heard footsteps approaching. He didn't move and tried not to make a sound as they approached, hoping they'd walk past him but knowing they wouldn't.

"Hey," came a gentle voice from right in front of him. Conner opened his eyes to peak, and found his older brother squatting on the grass beside him, a slight frown on his face. "Are you okay?"

"Uh huh," Conner nodded, hastening to wipe his eyes and nose before Clark noticed. 

"Is this because of you broke a glass?" He asked. Conner nodded again, holding in a sniffle. He didn't want to feel pathetic or guilty right now, he wanted to feel strong and safe. "Conner, it's okay, accidents happen. It was only one glass.

"And the door."

"The door?"

"Cracked it."

"Oh..." Clark leaned back, craning his neck to see the front door. "Oh, okay, that's a little bit bigger, but it's nothing a little wood glue and paint won't fix," he assured. "I learned how to fix almost everything when I was young," he said after maybe ten seconds. "I accidentally broke a few things myself back then."

"Really?" Conner asked. 

He couldn't imagine Superman bringing about any sort of destruction. The way he'd always seen it: Superman saved things and he broke things. That had dictated Conner's cruel treatment of himself every time he lost control of his powers.

"Yeah," Clark sighed, gazing across the field. "Every time I hit a growth spurt. Especially when I hit puberty," he admitted. "I promise, Ma and Pa have dealt with a lot more than losing a cup and needing to fix a door-- in fact, how about after lunch I show you how to use the wood glue? We could get ahead on fixing it up together while they're doing their regular chores and errands."

Conner nodded quickly, he wanted to fix things, but then he hesitated. "Are they... are they mad?"

"Not at all, just worried that you ran off." Clark smiled. "Pa's concerned it was something he said." He stood, extending a hand to Conner, who took it, and pulling the boy to his feet. "Come on, let's put his mind at ease."

Clark lead the way back towards the house, Conner trailing along after him, fidgeting a little with his hands.

He was hesitant stepping through the doorway, not sure what to expect. If that had happened in front of any other adult he knew he'd be in trouble, so he braced himself.

Mr. Kent was still sitting at the table, Mrs. Kent seemed to be sweeping bits of glass up off the floor. Conner felt a jolt of guilt and stared at his shoes.

"You're back quicker than you thought." Mr. Kent said, noticing them.

"Yeah." Clark guided his little brother back to the table. Conner sat at his discarded plate. He really wasn't hungry this time, in fact he almost felt sick. The once appealing food was tainted by his series of previous mistakes. 

"Are you alright, hun?" Mrs. Kent set down the dustpan and washed her hands in the kitchen sink. "I bet that was scary for you, wasn't it?"

Conner was taken aback. He searched in vein for a reply, before uttering a desperate: "Thank you?". Realizing that wasn't quite the right answer, he began stuttering to explain. "I-- thank you... I-- it was-- I didn't--" The longer he fumbled his words, the redder he felt himself getting, and the more frustrated and flustered he became. "It wasn't on purpose!" He finished in an violent crash-landing of conversational skill.

Mrs. Kent dried her hands, a curious look on her face.

"I think what Conner means is 'thank you for asking' and 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to break the glass'," Clark piped up, digging into his own meal again.

"Yeah." Conner forced out, lowering his head but keeping his eyes locked on the Kents, "That."

"Oh, poor thing," Mrs. Kent cooed, sitting back at the table. "It was an accident, don't worry."

"A little glass isn't too much for us," her husband agreed. "Did the frame break?" he asked, turning to Clark.

"Just the door." Clark replied. "We're going to fix it up after lunch."

"No, I'll fix it," the older man argued. "It's his first time on a farm, take him to meet the animals." 

"Now, if that's all over and done with, I suggest we have a nice, quiet lunch." Mrs. Kent said, and both her husband and Clark agreed, getting into their eating. "Come on, you too."

The food turned to ash in Conner's mouth, tainted by his stress, but he forced himself to finish it.