Kansas weather's like a moody kid. Bright and sunny in the morning, but by evening, the sky's turned as gloomy as the night before. Thick clouds swallow the last rays of sunset, and soon enough, raindrops are pelting the roof like a handful of pebbles tossed from the sky, each one hitting with an annoying plink that grates on the nerves.
Standing by the window, Locke's on the phone.
"Locke, this rain came out of nowhere. We're stuck in town—the roads are a mess. Looks like we won't make it back tonight. Can you keep an eye on Clark again?" Martha's voice carries a hint of apology through the line.
"Oh, Martha! Guess what I found here? Free shampoo!" Jonathan's faint voice chimes in, barely audible over the connection.
Locke chuckles, then replies warmly, "Come on, Martha, no need to be so formal. Clark's like a second son to me, same as Dio. I've got him covered."
"Well, I'm being too polite, aren't I?" Martha laughs softly. "Alright, when we're back, we owe you and your family a big dinner to say thanks."
"Deal. I'm holding you to it," Locke teases before saying goodbye and hanging up.
But when he turns to the dining table, he can't help but press a hand to his forehead. Dio's glaring at the massive venison leg on Clark's plate, his ruby-red eyes practically shooting sparks. His blond bangs even seem to quiver with his barely contained frustration. Meanwhile, Clark's oblivious, chowing down like it's his last meal, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, sauce smeared across his lips. For a kid who usually eats his fill of plain old staples, this is a feast for the ages.
"Dio," Locke says, exasperated, "your venison's right there. Why're you eyeballing Clark's?"
Dio snaps his head around, his scowl instantly morphing into a pitiful, innocent pout. "Dad, that's a leg! Clark's got the leg!"
Locke glances at Dio's plate. Sure, Clark's portion is huge—Locke gave him the leg as a special treat, and it's practically taking over half the table. Dio's got a decent cut too, but next to Clark's, it looks downright modest.
"You were talking to strangers today," Locke says with a grin. "And who said you could sneak off and drive the tractor again? This is your punishment. Besides, you couldn't finish a whole leg anyway."
Dio's face falls, and he mutters, "But Clark drove it too…"
"Clark didn't drive it into a mud pit and then sit there munching blueberry pie like nothing happened," Locke says, raising an eyebrow.
Dio's got no comeback for that. He just stabs his venison shoulder with his fork, glaring at it like it's Clark's head.
"Half full," Clark announces, taking a satisfied breath as he pauses from devouring his leg. His cheeks are tired from all the chewing. He glances at Dio, who's just poking at his food, and blinks in confusion. "Dio, why aren't you eating? You feeling okay?"
"Mind your own business, jerk," Dio huffs, turning away.
Clark scratches his head, totally lost on what he did to tick off his "little brother." But after a moment's hesitation, he cuts off a big chunk of his venison and holds it out to Dio. "Wanna try some of mine? It's really good!"
Dio freezes, staring at the glistening meat, then up at Clark's earnest blue eyes. For a second, he's at a loss for words. Finally, he awkwardly takes the piece, muttering, "Idiot."
Locke's eyes widen, catching the rare moment. A smile tugs at his lips as he heads to the kitchen and pulls a fresh blueberry pie from the oven. The sweet, warm aroma fills the room, instantly grabbing the boys' attention.
"Alright, finish your venison, then it's dessert time," Locke says, setting the pie in the center of the table. "But no fighting over it this time—one half each."
Dio and Clark nod eagerly, already reaching for the pie, itching to dig in.
"Ahem." Locke sits at the head of the table, his gaze softening as he looks at Dio, clearing his throat to pull the boys' focus back to him. "Dio."
"Yeah, Dad?" Dio asks, pausing mid-reach.
"Last night, when that robot monster showed up, you could've run. Why'd you step in front of Clark?"
Dio's hand freezes over the pie, his red eyes narrowing like he's been caught off guard. He glances at Clark, who's watching him curiously with those clear blue eyes.
"I…" Dio's throat bobs, like he's about to argue, but the words don't come. He clenches his jaw and huffs, "I wasn't protecting him! I was just… standing there!"
Locke raises an eyebrow, not buying it but playing along. "Oh? Funny, I could've sworn I heard you yell, 'Clark, run!' Didn't I?"
"?" Did I? Dio blinks, thrown off.
"Really, Dio? You were protecting me?" Clark's eyes light up, practically sparkling.
Dio glances at Clark's grateful face, then at Locke's encouraging nod. If Dad says I did, then I must've.
"Obviously," Dio says, puffing up his chest, his blond hair practically bristling with pride. "But only because if that robot took you out, Dad, Uncle Jonathan, and Aunt Martha would be upset!"
Locke laughs, reaching over to ruffle Dio's hair. His voice is warm but firm. "Dio, you know what real courage is? It's not about not being scared. It's about being scared and still choosing to do the right thing. Fear's natural—it can make people panic and run. But last night, you proved your heart's stronger than you think. Strong enough to push through fear."
He pauses, locking eyes with Dio. "That's your spirit, Dio. Your golden spirit, shining bright as gold."
Dio's star-shaped birthmark on his shoulder tingles faintly. He stares, stunned, like someone's just seen through him in a way he never noticed himself. For once, he doesn't argue, just ducks his head and mumbles, "You're getting sappy, Dad."
Locke grins. "Clark, what do you think we should do to reward Dio for saving you?"
"Easy!" Clark jumps up, throwing his arms around Dio in a big hug. "Thanks, Dio! You're the best brother ever!"
Since when did we rehearse this? Dio thinks, caught off guard. Locke's smile widens at the scene.
He reaches under the table and pulls out a large foil-wrapped package—something Star Platinum had quickly prepped and rested earlier.
"A hug's nice, but a reward's gotta have some substance too," Locke says, unwrapping the foil to reveal a massive steak. "Dio, your prize: prime-grade ribeye. Your favorite."
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