The sky over Smallville turned black, like a monsoon storm crashing in before a festival. Thick clouds rolled across the horizon, heavy and restless, swallowing the daylight. The air felt sticky, weighed down with moisture, and a low rumble of thunder growled through the fields. Wind whipped up suddenly, rustling the crops, carrying the earthy smell of rain about to burst.
A storm was brewing.
Clark sat in the back of Jonathan's creaky old truck, his small hands gripping the seat. At 15, he looked like any other boy, but his mind buzzed with something heavier. He'd seen this day coming—not in a dream, but in the comics and movies from a life he barely remembered. Today, Jonathan Kent would die.
When Clark first understood this, years ago, he didn't care much. Back then, Jonathan was just a wall between him and Martha, a piece of the story that would fade away. He'd thought, So what? It's just fate. A cold, practical part of him even welcomed it—Jonathan gone meant Martha closer.
But things had shifted.
Jonathan wasn't a stranger anymore. He was the man who'd sat with him on the porch, showing him how to tighten a bolt, telling him to treat people right even when it was hard. He'd taken a lost baby—Clark—and raised him like his own, with a quiet, steady love. He was a good father, and that mattered now.
Clark's fists tightened, his nails biting into his skin. He didn't want this. For the first time, he wanted to fight fate. But he wasn't strong enough—not yet. His powers were still small, flickers of what they'd become.
Kara, though—she could do it. ,her Kryptonian strength was alive, her speed a blur, her body tougher than steel. She could save Jonathan in a heartbeat.
But there was a problem. If she acted in front of everyone, the world would know—SHIELD, the government, people who'd hunt them down. It could ruin everything. Clark's mind wrestled with it: Is it worth it? Risking our lives for him? Then he thought of Jonathan's warm hand on his shoulder, and the answer came clear.
Yes. Any son would try. And Clark wouldn't just watch this happen.
When they reached the highway, the storm exploded. Rain hammered down, turning the world blurry, and the wind screamed like a beast set loose, shaking the truck. Lightning slashed the sky, bright and jagged, followed by thunder so loud it vibrated in Clark's chest.
Then he saw it—a tornado, dark and twisting, like a giant snake tearing through the earth. It yanked trees from the ground, tossed cars like toys, and roared closer every second. People panicked—shouting, running, tires screeching as chaos took over.
Jonathan didn't hesitate. "Get to the underpass!" he yelled, his voice cutting through the noise, pointing toward safety. "Go! Hurry!"
Clark started to move, his heart racing, when Martha's cry stopped him cold. "Krypto!"
Their dog was still in the truck, barking wildly as the tornado closed in. Jonathan turned, his face hard with purpose, and ran back through the storm, his boots splashing in the mud.
Clark's pulse pounded in his ears. This is it. The moment he'd feared. He grabbed Kara's wrist, his grip tight. "You have to save him."
Kara's eyes widened, her breath catching. "But… we can't. Not in front of everyone."
"It's Dad," Clark said, his voice sharp. "We can't just let him die."
She froze, her gaze darting from the tornado to Jonathan's figure in the rain. Then she nodded, quick and firm. She'd do it—for family.
Jonathan reached the truck, wrenching the door open. Krypto whimpered, trembling in the seat. Jonathan pulled him close, holding the dog tight against his chest. The wind howled, fierce and cruel, tugging at his shirt as the tornado loomed.
"Go!" Clark shouted, his voice swallowed by the storm.
Kara bolted—faster than a blink, a streak of motion through the rain. She was almost there, her hand reaching for Jonathan.
Then it happened.
Jonathan's face twisted, his body locking up. He clutched his chest, his knees buckling, and he fell, Krypto slipping from his arms.
Kara caught him just before he hit the ground, her speed softening the drop. But his eyes were empty, his chest still. It wasn't the storm. It wasn't the tornado. His heart had given out.
Clark stared, a cold wave crashing through him. A heart attack. He hadn't expected that. He'd thought the storm would take Jonathan, but fate had tricked him again.
That night, the house was too quiet. Martha lay against Clark on the couch, her sobs fading into shaky breaths as sleep finally took her. Her face was wet with tears, her body small and fragile next to his.
Clark didn't move, his eyes fixed on the dark wall. His mind kept spinning back—Jonathan's fall, Kara's desperate rush, the moment life left him. He'd known it was coming. He'd tried to stop it. But it was useless. This was bigger than him, than Kara, than any power they had. Jonathan's death was set, like a line carved in stone.
He'd failed. And it hurt—not just because he'd lost, but because Jonathan had been good. Clark swallowed hard, a knot in his throat. He wasn't used to feeling this, this weight of losing someone real.
But then, as he looked at Martha's sleeping face, her hair soft against the cushion, something shifted. The pain dulled, replaced by a quiet thought. Jonathan was gone, and with him, the space between Clark and Martha. One day, when time had passed, she'd be his—fully, freely. It was a selfish idea, but it calmed him, like a cool breeze after a long day.
He let it settle in. Fate had taken Jonathan, and Clark couldn't change that. But what came next? That was his to decide.
The next morning, the town came together under a heavy gray sky. The priest's voice was low, speaking of peace and loss. People stood with bowed heads, some crying softly, the air thick with the smell of wet grass and flowers.
Martha was there, her eyes red, her hands trembling. Kara stood beside her, silent, her face tight with grief she wouldn't let out. Clark stayed between them, holding Martha's hand, his expression calm.
He'd lost a father. But he'd gained a future. Fate had done its work, and Clark accepted it—no guilt, no regrets. Jonathan's time was over. His was just starting.