The Kent farm was wrapped in midnight stillness, with only the porch's nightlight casting a warm yellow glow.
Creak!
The familiar sound of the wooden door broke the silence.
Dio stepped inside, lugging a heavy suitcase, his movements tinged with a subtle tension.
In the living room, the TV's bluish flicker danced in the dark, airing a late-night talk show with the volume turned low. The host's muffled voice blended with the audience's stifled laughter.
"Back already?"
Locke's voice came from the sofa, startling Dio, whose fingers tightened on the suitcase handle.
He glanced over to see his father sitting upright, cradling a steaming mug of milk, dressed in a faded, slightly frayed plaid pajama set. The soft glow of a floor lamp bathed him in a gentle halo.
"Yeah," Dio replied, forcing calm as he set the suitcase on the shoe cabinet.
His right hand, though, still held a small cake box, its pink wrapping adorned with cursive letters: Sweet Moments.
It stood out like a sore thumb.
Locke's eyes flicked between the suitcase and the cake box, his brow arching slightly.
He opened his mouth, as if to ask something, but sighed instead. "Dio," he said, his tone soft with a hint of regret, "you missed a surprise tonight."
"What surprise?"
Dio frowned, quietly relieved.
Good. He didn't notice anything. My cover's holding.
He'd gone out of his way to scrub off the night's traces at Zeb's greasy motorcycle shop, then swung by a closed bakery, sweet-talking his way into buying a cake and even smearing fresh cream on his shirt cuffs and collar.
His clothes now reeked of a cloying sweetness that could knock out a bee, perfectly masking the mix of pricey perfume, cigar smoke, and booze from the Iceberg Lounge.
"You'll find out in a few days," Locke said with a sly grin, his eyes glinting mischievously, leaving Dio hanging.
"Lame," Dio muttered, his tone flat. He set the cake box on the coffee table, adding, "Part-time gig at the bakery. The owner gave it to me."
"You got a job?"
Locke choked on his milk, nearly dropping the mug. His eyes widened as he stared at his son.
Did I mess this up? He's actually working? At a bakery?!
He sniffed the air—yep, the thick scent of cream, maybe even a faint whiff of cherry. Of course, a bakery's gotta have fruit cakes.
"Yeah," Dio said coolly, clearly eager to drop the subject. "Where's Seraphiel?"
"He and Clark were goofing around all night. He's asleep now," Locke replied, his gaze drifting back to the cake box. He reached for the pink ribbon, untying it slowly.
Catching the plural in his dad's words, Dio raised an eyebrow. "They?"
"Haha!" Locke let out a nervous chuckle, his eyes darting away as he fumbled with the tangled ribbon. "This cream looks pretty good, real rich…"
Watching his father's clumsy attempt to change the subject, Dio let out a cold huff, dropped the issue, and headed for the stairs.
But then—
"Dio, hold up," Locke called. "I meant to clear things up last night, but you seemed… busy." He sighed. "Then this morning you had school, and this afternoon you were giving that talk at the elementary school. I was gonna tell you over dinner, but…"
"Didn't expect you'd jump straight into a bakery job."
"Clear what up?"
Dio's brow furrowed, a bad feeling creeping in.
"Yeah…" Locke sighed again. "You might've gotten the wrong idea. We're not in any financial trouble. It's just that the farmers around town have been struggling lately, and Jonathan and I are trying to help them out."
"Sorry you worked a whole night for nothing."
"Want me to make it up to you somehow?"
"…"
"No need," Dio said, taking a deep breath to squash the irritation bubbling in his chest.
What's done was done.
And honestly, if it weren't for that "misunderstanding," he wouldn't have made such a big score. One more night like that, and he'd have enough for that limited-edition Harley—plus some extra.
Call it prep for Dad's birthday next week. Or supporting his and Uncle Jonathan's bleeding hearts. Someone's gotta back them up.
"Got it," Dio said with a cold snort, not looking back as he climbed the stairs.
His footsteps echoed on the wooden steps, fading into the distance.
He's taking it that lightly?
"Dio, wanna share some?" Locke asked hesitantly, guilt creeping in. "Fresh from the oven, right?"
"Ate all night. Tired," Dio called back.
"Oh… alright," Locke replied, his voice dipping with a faint trace of disappointment.
The upstairs door clicked shut, leaving the living room silent except for the TV's low hum.
Locke finally untied the ribbon and opened the box, revealing a small cake topped with creamy frosting and a few cherries.
He scooped up a bite with a fork. The cream melted on his tongue, overly sweet with a synthetic edge—not exactly gourmet.
Well, what do you expect from a rookie baker?
He couldn't help but miss old man Logan's cakes, made with real maple syrup and fresh butter. Those were the real deal.
If Logan were here tonight, he'd probably grumble about this cake being too sweet while sharing a mug of hot cocoa, chatting lazily about the dull TV show.
Where's that old jerk been these past couple years? Not a word.
Locke sighed, glancing around the quiet room, suddenly feeling the weight of the silence.
The TV's blue glow flickered on the walls, the fridge hummed steadily in the corner, and faint dog barks drifted in from outside, making the house feel even emptier.
This kind of quiet might be normal for most people at midnight.
But for Locke, every sleepless midnight stretched on forever.
The energy coursing through him was like an endless furnace, giving him stamina far beyond normal. As long as his mind wasn't drained, sleep was optional.
So, for years, when Smallville slept under the cover of night, Locke often sat alone, guarding this silence, watching over the kids upstairs, flipping through the same old talk shows, night after night.
After a quick glance toward the stairs to make sure Dio was gone, Locke traced a finger through the air.
A faint spatial rift appeared.
A palm-sized, translucent dragon soul poked its head out, its body shimmering with a soft golden glow, elegant and lively. It nuzzled Locke's finger with its cool, ethereal head, letting out a chime-like hum.
"You're the only one keeping me company now," Locke said softly.
He broke off a bit of the frosted cherry topping and offered it to the dragon soul.
"Rawr~"
The little dragon purred contentedly, its tiny claws tugging at his pajama sleeve, golden eyes gleaming in the dark.