Smallville Police Department
"I just stabbed the guy with a barbecue fork... and after that, everything's kind of a blur."
Steve leaned back in the cold metal chair, facing the third officer to interrogate him.
He'd repeated this story so many times, he could recite it like a bedtime tale.
Across the table, a burly white officer slammed the transcript down with a loud thud.
"We've got eyewitnesses saying you ran straight into the chaos, cowboy. You're not exactly a bystander here."
The officer leaned forward, tone heavy with suspicion. "Trying to play the hero, or looking for trouble?"
Steve straightened in his seat, calm but firm. "I defended myself and others. That's not a crime. I stopped a man with a loaded weapon from hurting more people. Shouldn't that earn me a medal—not an interrogation?"
He knew something the officer didn't.
The supermarket's security cameras? Blown out during the initial shooting spree. Total blackout. No one had footage of Adam's laser eyes, or Steve's improvised takedown.
He'd already synced up his version of events with Martha Kent, the only person who could have exposed the truth.
And as for Adam?
The mysterious wristband now embedded into Steve's arm had already generated legal adoption papers, complete with forged signatures and a sealed record. He was officially Adam's guardian, and no background check would say otherwise.
Just then, a knock came at the door.
A female officer peeked in. "Sir—they're here."
The burly cop stood, glanced back at Steve, and walked out without a word.
Three minutes later, he returned.
"You're free to go," he grunted, unlocking the handcuffs. "But don't leave Smallville. We're not done talking."
"Sure thing, officer. Happy to cooperate."
Steve stood calmly, stretching his wrists as he walked into the hallway.
There, waiting anxiously, stood Martha Kent—holding Adam.
"Thank God!" she gasped, rushing toward him. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine."
He gently took Adam into his arms.
The little troublemaker had fully recovered from the earlier laser-eye incident and was now clutching a shiny toy firetruck, grinning like he hadn't vaporized someone an hour ago.
A deep voice chimed in.
"I'm Jonathan Kent."
A broad, firm handshake.
Martha's husband.
"Thank you, Mr. Patrick. I heard what you did… thank you for protecting my wife and son."
Steve nodded. "Just doing the right thing. And… honestly? I like Clark. He's a good kid."
Jonathan's eyes lit up at that.
After some brief conversation, the couple invited Steve back to Kent Farm for dinner.
Steve, curious and still rattled, agreed.
---
En route to the farm...
The car hummed gently along the rural road. Wheat fields rolled past in golden waves. Tall, shadowy oaks lined either side like silent sentinels.
Steve sat quietly in the back, Adam in his lap, staring at the wristband on his left hand.
It was glowing faintly.
He clenched his fist and noticed something... new.
His muscles were tighter. His vision was sharper. The blur of the passing trees—he could focus on each leaf if he tried. He could feel his hearing stretch far beyond the hum of the car engine.
It hadn't been adrenaline back in the supermarket.
Something inside him was changing.
The wristband.
It wasn't just a baby-monitor or tracking device—it was evolving him.
Power. Precision. Awareness.
His body had leveled up.
And he hadn't even asked for it.
---
Twenty minutes later.
The truck rolled to a stop in front of a large wooden farmhouse painted in faded white, with a red barn looming in the distance.
"We're here," Jonathan announced.
He stepped out first, then helped Martha down. Steve climbed out with Adam on his hip, breathing in the crisp country air.
"This is your place?" Steve asked.
"Yep," Jonathan said proudly. "Been in the family for generations. My grandfather built the barn. I was supposed to go off to college, but I chose this life instead."
Martha smiled, elbowing him gently. "You always say it like it's a sad story. But it brought us together, didn't it?"
Jonathan chuckled. "You have a point."
Suddenly, Martha froze. "Oh no! I left Clark with Nier and forgot to pick him up!"
She passed Adam back to Steve in a hurry. "I'll be right back! Sorry!"
As she ran off to retrieve her son, Jonathan turned back to Steve with a grin. "Still forgetful, even after ten years of marriage."
Steve nodded. "She's amazing though. A real mom."
That wasn't flattery.
Martha Kent had raised Superman, and that alone deserved sainthood.
Steve glanced down at Adam—who was now trying to chew his firetruck—and thought about what could've happened if Superman had landed in the wrong home.
If Clark had ended up with someone like Steve, or worse—someone who encouraged dominance instead of empathy—he might've become just like Homelander.
Jonathan's voice pulled him out of the thought.
"She is a great mother. And a better partner than I ever deserved."
Steve nodded again. "She raised a good kid."
---
That evening…
The dinner spread was better than Steve had tasted in years.
Corn on the cob. Beef stew with potatoes. Fresh baked bread. Sweet iced tea. It was the kind of home-cooked meal you'd only see in Hallmark movies.
They sat around the rustic wooden table as Adam and Clark played quietly on the floor.
"So you really don't know who his mother is?" Martha asked, glancing toward Adam.
Steve sipped his tea and answered smoothly. "No. Never been married. Found him. Adopted him."
"Just like us," Jonathan muttered, nodding.
Steve had named the boy John, after his previous life. It was simple, familiar—and normal enough not to raise flags.
Martha set down her fork. "Back in the store… what exactly happened? When that man—"
Steve cut her off gently. "He has a talent. Some kind of energy ability. I've only seen it activate when he's under extreme stress or rage."
Martha nodded slowly, remembering the glowing red in Adam's eyes—no, John's.
She lowered her voice. "I told the police I had my eyes closed in fear. They asked a dozen times. I stuck to it."
"Thank you," Steve said sincerely. "He's... complicated. And I just want to raise him right."
Jonathan, meanwhile, had gone quiet.
His mind was racing.
Two babies.
Two crashes.
Too many coincidences.
Could it be possible that John—like Clark—had come from the stars?
And if so… were they brothers?
He was about to speak when Steve's voice cut in.
"I'd appreciate it if you kept what you saw—what you suspect—private. Just for John's sake."
Jonathan looked up and nodded solemnly. "Of course."
After clearing the table, Steve wandered over to the boys, watching them crawl and bump toys together.
He picked up Clark, holding him close.
"You've got good instincts," Steve said. "I can see it."
He looked at Martha and Jonathan.
"Listen… I know this is sudden, but I'd be honored to be Clark's godfather."
Martha looked surprised.
Jonathan raised an eyebrow.
"I mean it," Steve added. "If anything ever happens, I want to be someone Clark can count on. I'm already doing this for John... but Clark deserves protection too."
Martha exchanged glances with her husband.
Then she smiled warmly.
"Of course. No problem at all."
Just then, Clark—still in Steve's arms—let out a garbled sound.
"...Dah-dee."
Everyone froze.
Steve blinked.
Jonathan's mouth twitched.
Martha gasped, then laughed.
"Did… did he just call you Daddy?"
Steve looked down at the baby.
Clark giggled, drooled, and smacked his little hand against Steve's c
hin.
Steve grinned.
"Guess that means I'm in."
---