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“Clark.”
Clark slightly cracks one eye open at the sound of his father’s voice, but makes no effort to move from his spot sprawled out on the sofa in his parents’ living room.
’’M sleeping, Pa. Shhh,” Clark says, closing his eye and settling further into to the plush cushions of the couch.
The sun had long since moved from its previous position in the sky. Just two hours ago, the sunlight streaming through the windows perfectly illuminated the worn sofa, creating the perfect napping spot for a solar-powered Kryptonian to doze. It was sheer laziness that kept Clark from getting up once the sun had set. He was comfortable. And it wasn't every day Superman was afforded the luxury of laziness, or the ability to catch up on well-needed rest.
”Sleepin’, Pa,” Clark says again, blindly grabbing one of the sofa’s decorative pillows and clutching it to his chest. “Come back later, I’ll….help you with whatever. Anything…”
”I don't need help with anything, son. Just checkin’ on ya. You ain’t moved from that spot in a bit. Normally we can’t get ya to sit down.”
“I’m just tired, Pa, s’all,” Clark sighs. Less than two hours of sunlight peeking in through a living room window wasn’t hardly enough to have him feeling fully charged. He could have gone to the fortress, let the Superman robots sit him in his special chair and beam him with sunlight until he was at full power, but after Lex’s invasion, something about it felt a little…tainted. He preferred the safety and quietness of home. With his Ma and Pa nearby, and the warm sun shining through the windows.
It would take longer for him to heal, but here, he felt safe enough to sleep.
Something he’d like to attempt. Preferably right now.
”Well, it’s almost time for your Ma to come in and watch her show,” Pa says. “You know how she likes her TV time.”
The you ought to move isn’t said aloud, but Clark knows he’s got limited time left on the sofa. But he’s comfortable here. And moving seems like such a task. Not even one Superman wants to take on.
“Now, if I ain’t mistaken,” Pa continues, “you’ve got a perfectly good bed here. In a nice, cozy, room. You’re always welcome to put it to use, you know. Your Ma even washed the sheets for you just the other day. You got a bit of dirt on them, but now they’re all fresh…clean…”
Clark’s response is a mere hum. He doesn't even open his eyes as extends an arm in the general direction of his father’s voice.
Instantly, Pa is there.
Clark makes himself light as a feather, allowing Pa the illusion of being able to haul him into his arms bridal style, with the same ease as when Clark was small and Pa was far younger. Almost automatically, Clark’s arm slips around Pa’s neck, leaning his head to rest against the old man’s shoulder. The soft sway as Pa walks lulls him back into a comfortable state.
He’s limp as Pa sets him down in his aforementioned bed, engulfed in a warm, fuzzy, safe feeling when he feels his shoes being unlaced and pulled off his feet. His glasses are carefully plucked from his face, (with the soft snap of a button clasping tells him that Pa took the time to slip them into the glasses case on the nightstand.) The weight of a blanket carefully being tucked over him.
He wards away the memories of the last time he’d been in this bed, replacing the memory fretting hands that had run through his hair then with the gentle ones that brush his curls away from his face now. The memory of his parent’s hushed worried tones as Lois had filled them in with talk of pocket dimensions and Luthor’s heinous acts are so easily wiped away by his father’s whispered, “Get your rest, son.”
He lets sleep take him, knowing that—after a week full of questioning everything about himself—he would never have to question if coming home was a good choice.