Jonathan sat on the bench by the door, with Martha standing beside him, flour dusting her apron. They watched their son leaning over the railing nearby, neither of them saying a word.
"I need to make a decision," Clark said suddenly.
"I know." Jonathan nodded, waiting for him to continue.
"A little girl went missing from an orphanage in Gotham. The traces left at the scene... weren't made by technology from Earth. Aliens might have done it, or they might be after me."
"After you? Then why..."
Martha took a step forward, then stopped. "Why attack an orphanage?"
"Maybe because she's a... fan of mine?"
Clark shook his head. "I don't know. I don't have any leads right now."
"Hmm..." Jonathan thought for a moment. "Then... where would you look for her?"
"I asked some friends I met out in space. Their corps said they'd keep an eye out for me."
Clark sighed. "But they also told me not to get my hopes up. The universe is so vast. Compared to it, we're incredibly small."
"Clark." Martha came over and rested her hand on his arm. It was warm, dusted with fine traces of flour, just as it had been on countless mornings when she made him pancakes.
"When you were eight," she said, "you discovered you could lift a tractor. You asked us, 'Am I a monster?'"
Clark remembered. He remembered that afternoon, remembered Martha holding him in her arms and saying, "You're our son."
"Your father told you," Martha continued, "that maybe there was a reason you'd been sent to Earth. Maybe one day, you'd use those abilities to help people. But first, you had to learn to be a good person."
"That's right." Jonathan nodded beside her. "I did say that."
"I've always remembered," Clark said.
"Then