Damn it, I’m surrounded by those who kill their fathers!

On the other side of Smallville School:

Peter had gone to the hardware store to buy nails needed for repairing the house. On his way back, he passed by the school to deal with John's situation.

He walked across the green lawn behind the school, passing an art class.

Students were sitting in a semicircle around a female teacher dressed in a batik dress who was giving a lesson.

With his super-hearing, Peter could hear the scratching sounds of pencils sketching leaves.

After glancing briefly at the students, he headed straight for Martha McConner's office.

"Mr. Podrick?"

Seeing Peter at the school surprised Martha.

Usually, she only saw him during parent-teacher conferences.

"Hello, Ms. McDonald," Peter greeted her. "I hope I'm not interrupting you."

"No, of course not," Martha replied, a bit excited as she stood up, but quickly masked her emotions. "I heard about the plane incident. Thank goodness you all came out unscathed."

"Thank you," Peter nodded and exchanged a few pleasantries before addressing the reason for his visit—the complaints against John.

John's knack for causing trouble had resulted in complaints from many teachers and parents.

"No problem," Martha assured him with a nod, saying she'd handle it quickly.

With the help of the enthusiastic and kind teacher, Peter resolved the issue efficiently.

Noticing the dark circles under her eyes, Peter asked casually, "Ms. McDonald, have you not been resting well lately?"

Caught off guard, Martha hesitated before replying, "Maybe... I've just been a bit tired recently."

Ten minutes later

Accompanied by Martha, Peter was heading out of the school when they passed a bench. The art teacher he had seen earlier was sitting there.

As they approached, she stood up to greet them.

The woman, wearing the same batik dress, had a sweet face and a slim figure.

"Hi, Martha," she said.

"Katie?"

The art teacher, Katie Wisniewski, smiled at Martha and then glanced at Peter. "Is this your friend, Martha?"

Martha glanced at Peter and said awkwardly, "Yes."

Technically, Peter was John's guardian, but after he had saved her from gangsters, she considered him a friend. It didn't feel wrong to say so.

"You know we're close, Martha. You should introduce me," Katie said, extending her hand toward Peter. "I'm Katie Wisniewski, the art teacher here."

Peter looked at Martha, who gave him an awkward smile. "She's my friend," Martha added.

In truth, Martha wasn't very familiar with Katie, a mysterious newcomer rumored to have questionable relationships with several men. Martha always kept her distance.

"Peter Podrick," Peter introduced himself, shaking her hand.

Something about the woman felt off, especially the unsettling gleam in her eyes.

"I've heard about you, Mr. Podrick," Katie said with a curious gaze. "You're practically famous now—what with that plane making an emergency landing in your field."

"I wasn't there at the time," Peter replied with a shake of his head, "so I can't really say what happened."

Nodding slightly at Martha, he excused himself. "I have something to attend to. Please excuse me."

As Peter walked away, Katie watched his back intently, her eyes gleaming faintly.

Evening, Podrick Farm

After a day of repairs, the living room had regained about 70-80% of its former state.

When Peter entered, John was engrossed in watching TV. Hearing Peter's footsteps, he quickly changed the channel.

Unaware of John's movements, Peter said, "Go upstairs and call Star-Lord down for dinner."

"Uh…" John hesitated. "Dad, Star-Lord isn't feeling well."

"What happened? Did you two fight?"

"No, he's just not in the mood to eat," John explained, recounting the incident at the orphanage earlier that day.

"You're saying you saw a deceased elderly woman, her body completely mummified overnight?"

"That's right, Dad. It was Star-Lord's first time seeing something like that. It shook him up."

Peter gave John a skeptical look. "Why didn't you stop him? You know he's too young to see such things."

Peter suspected John might have done it on purpose.

Though John and Star-Lord had been getting along better since the Clark incident, Peter doubted they were entirely at peace.

"I tried, but his curiosity got the better of him," John defended himself.

"Fine. Go wash your hands. I'll check on him," Peter said.

Upstairs, Star-Lord's Nightmare

Star-Lord was trapped in a nightmare.

In the dream, he saw a shadow darting past him, startling him awake.

The shadow flickered again before darting into the corner and slipping into the bathroom, accompanied by rustling sounds.

Unaware he was dreaming, Star-Lord grabbed the butterfly knife he had bought for six dollars at a flea market near Smallville Talon and followed the shadow cautiously.

At the bathroom door, he groped for the light switch on the wall.

Click!

Blinding light flooded the room, revealing a red balloon floating in the corner.

The balloon had a picture of a cake on it. The candles on the cake spelled out, "Happy Birthday, Star-Lord."

As he approached, the image on the balloon changed.

The cake morphed into a skull with jagged teeth. Between its gaping jaws was a speech bubble that read, "Happy Death Day, Star-Lord."

With a gasp, Star-Lord woke up, wiping sweat from his forehead. Realizing it was just a dream, he relaxed slightly.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Are you asleep, Star-Lord?"

"Dad?"

Hearing Peter's voice, Star-Lord sat up in bed.

"What's wrong? Not feeling well?" Peter asked, ruffling Star-Lord's hair.

Feeling the warmth of his father's touch, Star-Lord sighed in relief. "I'm fine, Dad."

Biting his lip, he hesitated before asking, "Dad, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Will you leave me?"

"No, of course not. Why would you ask that?"

"At the orphanage today, I saw a dead person…" Star-Lord trailed off, lowering his head.

Peter sighed. "That's my fault. I should've thought about unexpected situations like that when I sent you two to volunteer."

Star-Lord shook his head. "It's not your fault, Dad. I'm not scared of death itself. I'm just scared of losing you."

He looked at Peter with tears in his eyes. "I keep dreaming, Dad. Just now, I dreamed about my birthday."

"Your birthday? Are you excited about it?"

"No, Dad. It was a bad birthday."

Star-Lord recounted his dream, leaving Peter stunned.

"Dad, I often dream of being trapped—like I'm in a box, suffocating. And sometimes, I dream of my mom. She was so thin and frail, holding my hand as she said goodbye."

Tears welled up in Star-Lord's eyes.

"So… Dad, you won't leave me, right?"

"No, I'll never leave you," Peter reassured him, pulling him into a comforting hug.

He knew these dreams were fragments of Star-Lord's past life—memories of a single-parent household, his mother's battle with cancer, and the helplessness of watching her waste away.

"Dad won't leave you," Peter whispered. "Not even death can separate us. I promise."

"Then you have to be there for all my birthdays, Dad. Can you promise that?"

"Why every birthday?"

"Because… I'm sure I'll die before you do."