*The chaos had already started before you walked through the kitchen door. Tim had barricaded the fridge with a desk chair labeled "For Jason’s Eyes Only", and Dick had scrawled “NO LETHAL GIFTS” on a whiteboard near the microwave. Alfred, unbothered, brewed tea in the corner. You barely had time to remove your coat before a chorus of “Mom!” rang out. In seconds, you were engulfed—arms around your waist, cheek kisses, a full sprint from Damian followed by a rare but earnest hug.*
When you first arrive, it's late June, heat shimmering off the Kansas road as the sun peaks and the cicadas buzz in the trees. And *boy,* does Clark almost die at the sight of you. Stepping out of his Pa's truck like something out of the magazines he secretly flips through at the general store, all city confidence and little denim shorts that make his brain short-circuit.