The hospital corridor was a mess.
Cries, shouts, and the wail of ambulance sirens blended into a chaotic symphony.
Lock and his group hurried through the crowd, weaving past parents who'd just survived a nightmare. Some clung to their soaked kids, sobbing. Others grabbed the school bus driver by the collar, yelling. A few teachers slumped on benches, faces pale as ghosts.
But Lock's eyes were fixed on Mrs. Green, trembling in the corner.
Before he could step toward her, a hand in a rubber glove gently touched his shoulder.
"Mr. Lock?"
A nurse in a crisp white uniform, with a figure that turned heads, stood behind him, her eyes crinkling into crescents behind gold-rimmed glasses.
"Clark's in Room 203. Dio's with him."
Lock blinked, recognizing the nurse who'd once looked after Dio. "Thanks, Ms. Diesel."
"Oh my~"
She covered her mouth, chuckling, her name tag glinting under the fluorescent lights. "I'm surprised you remember me."
Martha, too anxious to chat, was already jogging toward the room, red-eyed, with Jonathan close behind.
"We're going to check on the kids," she called.
Lock nodded in acknowledgment, motioning for Logan to follow as they hurried down the corridor.
Diesel stepped aside, watching the four of them file past.
Her smile deepened, the lenses of her glasses catching a cold glint.
Interesting man.
Her slender fingers brushed the clipboard as she recalled that day—Lionel Luthor's private jet parked on the hospital roof, and this farmer turning down his million-dollar offer.
He resisted my suggestion, too. Guess I need more practice.
Beep beep beep!
The nurse station's red light flashed, snapping Diesel out of her thoughts. She flipped through her clipboard, remembering a kid whose dad owned the town pharmacy.
---
Outside Room 203, the group paused at the door, catching Dio's angry growl and Clark's stubborn retort from inside.
Lock's expression turned weird.
He overheard Dio ranting about…
"Black Will?"
"Survive to the end?"
"Become Emperor?!"
What the heck was that about?!
Martha and Jonathan, though, exchanged relieved smiles.
"They're still so lively. That's a good sign," Martha said, wiping a tear from her eye.
Jonathan nodded. "Means Clark and Dio are okay."
Logan, behind them, jabbed Lock's back, mouthing silently with wide eyes: "What the hell are you teaching these kids?!"
Taking a deep breath, Lock gently pushed the door open.
Dio stood by the bed, still striking his haughty pose.
"What are you gonna be?" Lock asked, ruffling Dio's blond hair with a wry smile. "Dio, tell Dad, is that your birthday wish?"
"Dad…"
Dio's fiery attitude froze the moment he saw Lock.
His earlier bravado melted into an awkward grin.
Clark, on the bed, shrank like a kid caught misbehaving, hiding half his face under the blanket.
"You two," Lock started, "just survived a close call, and you're already—"
But before he could finish, Martha rushed forward, pushing him aside to wrap Clark in a tight hug.
"You kids scared me to death," she said, her voice trembling, tears soaking Clark's hospital gown.
That broke him.
The boy who'd been putting on a brave face since the incident couldn't hold it together anymore. Tears welled in his blue eyes as he clung to Martha's waist, burying his face in her warmth.
"Mom…"
"Under the water… I really thought I'd never see you guys again…"
His voice cracked with a vulnerability he'd never shown, like a frightened animal.
Jonathan stood beside them, gently patting Clark's back, his rough hand tousling his foster son's curls.
Seeing this, Lock's chest tightened.
It hit him that he sometimes forgot Clark was only nine.
Not every kid was as mature as Dio.
And even Dio…
The blond boy stood rigid, eyes red, lips pressed into a tight line.
Those usually arrogant red eyes swirled with too many emotions—anger, fear, grievance.
"Dio," Lock said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to bottle it up."
"I get it."
Those words opened a floodgate.
Dio threw himself into Lock's arms.
"Clark's such an idiot!!" he yelled.
Lock held his trembling son tightly, feeling hot tears soak through his shirt.
Click.
Logan quietly closed the door, leaning against the wall outside.
He sniffed, not wanting to intrude on the family moment.
Ninety years, huh?
Home…
The Wolverine turned away, closing his eyes.
---
Outside, rain poured, hammering the Kent farm's roof, but it couldn't drown out the warm laughter inside.
On the dining table, a birthday cake glowed with nine flickering candles.
Clark and Dio had just made their wishes, and everyone was singing the birthday song.
Until—
Bang!
The kitchen door swung open.
"Little birthday stars!"
Logan strode out, holding a small cake, its maple syrup glaze shimmering amber in the candlelight.
"Authentic Canadian maple syrup cake. Who wants some?"
"Me, me, me!"
Clark's hand shot up, his blue eyes sparkling like stars.
Logan glanced at the coolly indifferent Dio, then at the beaming Clark, thinking this kid was practically an angel.
"Little hero!"
"Eat up! Big slice!" Logan cut a fist-sized piece and, with a grin, forked a bite right to Clark's mouth. "Uncle Logan's got you!"
Dio rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed by the scruffy drifter.
Lock stifled a laugh and darted to the corner, whipping off a dust cloth with a flourish.
"Check it out! Custom telescope from the Royal Academy of Sciences!"
The metal frame gleamed under the lights, the gold-embossed "KENT" on the barrel standing out.
But…
"Thanks, Uncle/Dad," the boys said politely.
Lock raised an eyebrow. "...?"
That's it?
"Not bad, Lock, but you're slipping," Jonathan teased, pulling open the door to a small side room.
Ta-da!
Two mini tractors stood there, decked out in flashy paint jobs, steering wheels tied with bows.
Clang!
Clark's fork hit the floor. He bolted to the tractors like a magnet, his small hands running over the metal.
Dio, less starry-eyed than Clark, still couldn't peel his gaze off the machines.
"…"
Lock watched in silence, a million thoughts running through his mind, unable to find words.
Jonathan clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"Brother," he said quietly, nodding at the tractors. "You taught me this."
"Money can buy nice things, but nothing beats something made with your own hands."
Lock's mouth twitched.
That feeling was all too familiar.
At fourteen, he'd saved up for a baseball glove, only to be outdone by Jonathan's handmade leather lasso.
"Jonathan," Lock said dryly, "how kind of you—"
"What are you two up to?"
Martha cut in, shoving a piece of cake into each of their mouths.
"You're pushing eighty combined. Can you act your age?!"
Chewing cake, Lock nodded helplessly, gazing out at the night.
Starlight reflected on the rain-streaked windows, blending with the laughter inside into a hazy glow.
The trials would pass.
Today's scars might linger, but right now—
They were just life's special gifts for the day.
The family was still full of joy.
And for Lock, that was enough.