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Smallville has an energy all its own. Clark likes Metropolis; Conner thinks he can keep that city, he’ll take this one. The peace permeates his bones. The world is quiet enough that he can breathe.
Next to him, Pa sighs and leans back in his chair. Not a rocking chair, like the quaint little-town series would have him believe, but a regular one. Rocking chairs are for movies, where people exist to have conversations that advance the plot. Regular chairs are for working people to have a moment before they get back up. Conner has a regular chair, too, but his is newer, doesn’t creak when he leans back in it the way that Pa’s does. They made it for him, when he said he wanted to come stay for a week after he graduated from college. Clark helped. When they showed it to him, he almost teared up before he could catch himself and just go hug them.
“You have any plans for the day?” Pa asks, taking a sip of his tea and gesturing to him. “You want something different, y’know, you can go get it. Martha won’t mind.”
Conner shrugs and takes a sip of his tea. “It’s growing on me,” he says.
“Don’t have to grow on you. Nobody’s makin’ you like anything you don’t want to.”
“Ma says I should like something that isn’t mostly sugar, and I think she might be right.”
Pa hums thoughtfully. “Good for you, listenin’ to her. Not sure it works the same for you as it does for a normal boy your age, but variety can’t hurt neither.”
“Yeah.” Conner sighs, leaning back in his seat. “You know, I still don’t know if I actually need to eat.”
“That right?” Pa sounds intrigued. “Clark told me the same thing, at one point. Course, it’s not like we were going to test it by not feeding ‘im, even if he did come out of a spaceship. And now he likes eating, so he’s not about to stop and find out for sure.”
“Exactly. I think I might be okay without it, because of the sunlight, but I don’t really want to test it out.” He thinks a second, trying to figure out where the conversation started. For quick conversations in between chores and busy work, they sure can ping-pong from place to place. “And my plans are whatever needs doing today. I told you that.”
“Mm-hm.” Pa’s hum this time is softer; coupled with the glance at him out of the corner of his eye before he looks forward again, it comes off as skeptical. “That what you wanna do?”
Or is it what you think you should do? Conner can fill in the blanks so easily. They don’t actually rebuke him or make him think through his actions, but there’s an art to implying improper things. Small-town folks seem to be experts at it. He’s been taking notes. Or is it what you think that Clark—that Superman—would do if he was in the same place?
“I like helping people. You know that.” Conner shrugs it off. He’s in too good of a mood to let the thoughts pull him down today. “When I say I want to do chores and stuff… that’s mostly what I’m thinking of it as. Another way to help someone, and this time it’s you.”
Pa sighs. “You do like helping people.” He sits up, setting down his empty tea mug on the end table between them, and gives Conner a smile. An earnest one. Pa doesn’t say or do things he doesn’t mean, which makes them matter that much more. “You’re a good kid, Conner. I told you that recently?”
It’s such a simple compliment, but it’s partially the simplicity that makes the words stick. His ears feel a little hot, and he covers up his mostly-nod by taking another sip of tea. It’s mostly cold now, but still sweet enough to be tasty. He’s going to finish it, so that Ma will be pleased when she brings in two empty cups and knows that he’s listening to her.
“Clark told me you’re not good at taking compliments,” Pa says softly, hefting himself out of his chair with a groan and straightening. “Fair warning, that just means I’m gonna give you more of them, until you can believe what we’re telling you.”
He might be right, Conner reflects, if the reply he has to swallow is then I’m going to have to start doing more things that you can compliment me on. He does good things already. He knows that, because he makes sure of it every day.
“I’ll work on that,” he says instead.
“Good.” Pa puts his hands in his pockets, surveying the farm. “Finish that tea, then, and we’ll find some things to work on. Anywhere you want to start?”
“How about getting the eggs?” Conner suggests, draining the last of his tea and standing too. He doesn’t groan. He’s not sure he will, given his strange aging and being half-Kryptonian, but maybe he actually will, if he lives a hard enough life. He’s pretty sure it would actually be an honor. “I like the chickens.”
Pa snorts. “Goodness knows why. Harold’s a little devil.”
“I’m bulletproof. That’s the only reason I can put up with him pecking my legs.” Conner grins. “Besides, Miss Blue loves me.”
“You’re gonna steal my hens if I’m not careful,” Pa mutters, but it sounds affectionate. He turns away, waving Conner to follow him as he steps down the stairs. “Come on, then. We’ll start in the henhouse. And then, if you’re up for it, I might need your help on the tractor. Darn thing starts to break every time you leave.”
He likes working on that, too, which gives him a pleased flutter in his chest. “You’re saving the good chores for me,” he accuses lightly, jumping down the stairs. “Do you go this easy on Clark, too?”
Pa winks at him. “Don’t tell ‘im. You’re softening me up in my old age.”
That’s hilarious, the idea of Pa getting soft. Conner laughs, letting his eyes flutter shut as Pa chuckles in front of him too. He wants to imprint his time here into his mind like a photograph. He wants these sounds to play on command when he’s upset or stressed like calling up his favorite song.
He wants to be the person he is right here, right now, until his hair is gray. This seems like a good start.