Mark came down the stairs like he'd just stepped out of a movie poster.
Stephen, half-curled into the couch, lifted an eyebrow at the blur of blue and yellow. His spoon hovered lazily in his cereal bowl.
"Okay," Stephen said, voice dry. "Either a circus exploded, or you're cosplaying as a primary colour."
Mark stopped at the base of the stairs, grinning like a man who'd just won a prize-fight. "Jealousy is a bad look, little brother."
Stephen stared, then slowly pointed at him with the end of his spoon. "You look like a sports drink."
"I got my suit," Mark said, beaming. "My real suit. Art made it. Like—custom built. Dad took me last night after training."
Stephen paused mid-bite. "Art… like, the Art? The guy who made Omni-Man's first suit?"
Mark's grin somehow widened. "Yup. Same guy. Said this one's got layered armor-threading, kinetic reinforcement, anti-friction seams—basically, it can take a beating."
Stephen chewed thoughtfully. "And you're planning on giving it one?"
Mark ignored him. "I even got a name."
Stephen blinked. "You didn't already have one?"
"I mean a real name. Official. Public. Hero name."
"Oh, god."
Mark puffed his chest out a little. "Invincible."
Stephen slowly lowered his spoon. "You named yourself Invincible."
Mark nodded proudly. "Yup."
"You named yourself after something you're very much not."
"I've literally fought a villain already."
"You got your powers a week ago."
Mark shrugged. "Doesn't mean I didn't win."
Stephen stared. "Who?"
"Guy named Titan. Robbing a weapons truck. I stopped him."
Stephen sat up straighter. "Titan? The guy with skin like rock? That Titan?"
Mark looked smug. "He wasn't as tough as I expected. Fast, though. Slippery."
"Mark," Stephen said, carefully setting his bowl aside, "are you telling me your first real mission was a one-on-one with a known enhanced-class criminal, and no one supervised you?"
"Dad was nearby," Mark said, slightly less confident now.
Stephen closed his eyes. "Of course he was."
There was a long beat.
"You're just mad because I got a suit before you," Mark said, but there wasn't any real bite to it.
Stephen opened one eye. "I'm twelve."
"Exactly. I'm just saying—" Mark leaned over the couch, flashing that familiar grin. "You're jealous."
"I named you Invincible," Stephen said flatly. "Before you even had powers."
"No you didn't."
"Yes I did."
"I don't remember that."
"I literally said, and I quote: 'If you ever get powers, you'll probably be one of those 'Invincible' types who think they're indestructible.'"
"That's not the same."
Stephen sighed, raised a hand, and without moving from the couch, sent a throw pillow flying straight into Mark's face.
Mark yelped as it hit him and tumbled backward into the wall.
"Stephen!" came Debbie's voice from the kitchen.
"What?" Stephen called back. "I used a pillow!"
Mark groaned and peeled it off his face. "Seriously?"
Stephen shrugged. "Hey, at least now your suit's had its first durability test."
Mark gave him a look, then tossed the pillow back. "You're insufferable."
"You're Invincible," Stephen said, deadpan.
And for a brief second, it was like it used to be—two brothers just messing around before school, before training, before responsibilities. Just that quiet, golden sliver of normal.
_ _ ♛ _ _
Later, after Mark had left for patrol training and the house had gone quiet, Stephen stepped out into the backyard.
The afternoon sun poured down like warm silk, gentle and bright. The sky was a sharp kind of blue, the kind you only got in spring. Stephen stood barefoot in the grass, eyes closed, listening to the hum beneath his skin.
It wasn't quite a heartbeat. It was more like… a charge. A pressure. Subtle. Constant.
He took a breath and reached out.
A single pebble on the ground shifted.
Stephen opened his eyes slowly. He extended his palm. The pebble quivered, then lifted a few inches before tumbling sideways.
He caught it before it hit the ground, snatching it with practiced ease.
"Still too much," he muttered. "Still too fast."
He sat cross-legged, spreading out a few small objects in front of him—a couple more pebbles, a stick, a plastic cup, a metal spoon he'd stolen from the kitchen (again). He stared at them, palms open.
"This isn't about strength," he whispered. "It's about control."
He didn't push this time. He let the energy trickle through him, like water through a sieve. The spoon twitched. The stick rolled. The pebbles danced—one of them a little too far.
It snapped up into the air and rocketed over the fence.
Stephen sighed.
"Sorry, neighbors."
_ _ ♛ _ _
By the time evening rolled around, Stephen was covered in grass stains and micro-cuts and felt like his brain had been doing push-ups for hours. His aura control was getting better. Not stable. But better.
He walked back into the house, towel over his neck, rubbing sweat from his face just as the smell of something really good hit him.
The kitchen was warm, full of light and the scent of garlic and soy sauce.
Debbie stood at the stove, humming softly to herself. She turned as he walked in.
"Wash up," she said. "Dinner's almost ready."
Stephen dropped the towel by the door and obeyed, scrubbing quickly at the sink before slipping into his usual seat at the table.
Mark walked in next, still in his new suit—albeit with the boots in hand and his hair wild from flight.
"You know," Debbie said, glancing at him, "you could have changed first."
Mark looked sheepish. "I was too hungry."
"You're lucky you're not dripping dirt on my clean floor."
"I'm clean! Mostly."
Debbie rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
Nolan entered last, quiet as ever. He gave a rare nod toward Stephen, then Mark.
Stephen returned it, subtly. Nolan's presence had always been... heavy. Not oppressive, not aggressive. Just there. Like gravity. Like silence. He never raised his voice. Never made threats. He didn't have to.
But lately, Stephen had been noticing the way Nolan watched him.
Not fear. Not hostility. Just... attention.
The kind that came from knowing something was out of sync. From not being able to name it yet.
Stephen hadn't brought it up. Neither had Nolan.
Dinner passed mostly in chatter—Mark talking about his suit, Debbie asking pointed but gentle questions, Nolan making the occasional comment when prompted. Stephen mostly listened, eating slowly, eyes flicking between the three of them.
Mark didn't notice it—but Debbie did.
She caught Stephen's eye once and frowned slightly. The same way she used to when he was younger and trying to fake being sick to skip school. He looked away.
_ _ ♛ _ _
After dinner, Mark headed up to shower. Nolan lingered in the living room, a book in his lap he hadn't touched in twenty minutes.
Stephen passed behind him quietly. Then paused.
"Hey, Dad?"
Nolan looked up. "Yes?"
Stephen hesitated. "Thanks for the other night."
Nolan raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
Stephen shrugged. "Taking Mark to get the suit. I think it meant a lot to him."
Nolan studied him for a moment, then nodded. "He's earned it."
Stephen nodded back.
Then turned to leave.
But before he could fully disappear down the hallway, Nolan said, almost softly:
"You're doing well too."
Stephen froze.
Then, without looking back, he nodded once.
"Thanks," he said.
_ _ ♛ _ _
Stephen sat quietly on the rooftop, staring upward.
The sky was sprinkled with stars, and the moon hid timidly behind thin clouds. From somewhere in the neighborhood, a dog gave a brief bark and fell silent.
He hugged his knees, resting his chin thoughtfully.
Tonight wasn't the night to try and float. He needed control first—certainty that nothing would go wrong.
Stephen examined his hands closely, turning them over. They looked ordinary, familiar. Same creases, same knuckles, same skin.
But beneath the surface, something felt different. Something deeper was transforming, slowly rewriting who he was becoming.
He wasn't sure exactly what that was yet. But he would find out soon enough.
Reaching into his hoodie pocket, Stephen took out a small stone. He balanced it carefully in his palm, then gently willed it upward. It lifted smoothly—not floating freely, just suspended quietly between his fingers, held by a hidden strength.
He felt a small smile touch his lips.
It wasn't much.
But it was a start.
Tomorrow, he'd push himself a little further.
End of Chapter 27
(A/N: Please give some powerstones to get the book on the map, a few more peaceful, semi peaceful days and some plot of the storyline will start kicking in, and you will all understand what has been going on in the background, slowly, i am taking a different route to superman's powers, a more grounded approach, and also usage approach as well.)