Cats Eat Birds - Damian Wayne/OC

55 | NEXT OF KYN

* updated illistrations, but tw for blood in the art. =D

SMALLVILLE, KANSAS; THE KENT FARM | 7:18 AM | CLARK

    THEY CAME BACK to the farmhouse sometime later, hip-deep in discussion. Clark watched Cristen talk with her hands about the latest scientific development she'd researched or an interesting fact she'd found. He saw the way Reese's expression bloomed, juggling Cristen's words and the awe on her face in a way only a parent could. They were good for each other. Not all kids had relationships with their parents, Clark knew, so he was glad that Cristen did.

"Thought you'd be out there longer. Something happen, princess?" Clark said. He crossed his arms on the porch railing to admire the latter half of a sunrise.

Cristen smiled in the way that wasn't quite pleased, but simultaneously so, all of it in her eyes instead of her mouth. So her powers were coming back faster than they'd thought. "S' gonna rain."

"Who needs the weatherman when you've got my girl here," chuckled Reese.

Clark was impressed. This must have shown on his face, because Cristen bowed her head to hide behind her curls as she passed him, her shoulders filled with embarrassment. How someone could ever be embarrassed by such gifts... well, honestly, Clark did understand. Burning holes through curtains at age fifteen will do that to you.

"That's incredible," Clark said. Again, he was more earnest than Cristen was used too, and she blanched. "I know the basics of your powers, but I don't think you've ever told me much past the danger thing. You can predict the weather?"

Cristen snorted. "Hardly. You can too, if you really wanted to. Difference in air pressure and all."

At about this time in the morning or after breakfast was done, Clark's mother would bring her sewing basket out onto the porch and relax. With the rest of them here, she kept it up, and so Jon made a tradition out of begging for stories. Considering the lives they lead, none of them ever ran out.

"Yeah, maybe," Clark shifted a couple inches so Cristen could take the spot next to him. She did, but only because she thought Clark was telling her to. "But I wanna know about you, young lady."

When Cristen looked reluctant to talk about her powers—which, for the record, Clark understood so deeply his heart ached—he threw a split-second glance at Jon, who turned to his grandmother, "Hey, ma, could'ja teach me how to braid hair?"

Lara's twin braids disappeared into the farmhouse fast enough to almost catch the door. That left Cristen, who couldn't exactly say no when Martha beckoned her over. Her hair was starting to get long, but Clark didn't have to be a detective to guess that Cristen liked her hair short. Their hair grew fast; she would have had to cut it a lot back when she had it, which required a power saw and two hours of spare time.

"...You were saying?" He asked Cristen.

Effectively trapped there, Cristen narrowed her eyes at him. Now she had to tell him something.

When Clark was a kid, he'd been the only one like him in the whole world. No outlets were big enough for the Krypton plug. For his children, Clark had tried to make a couple—talking to himself and Lois, for example. Cristen had the cord in her hand: he hoped she'd do something with it.

Clark definitely saw Cristen smile as Jon sorted three curls for a braid. "...Why does this suddenly feel like I've been tricked."

"Because I'm smarter than I look," smiled Clark. He wiggled his shoulders as he did, satisfied.