Grammy trudged back toward the house, wiping sweat from her brow. She had just finished her farm chores, which, under normal circumstances, might involve feeding chickens or gathering eggs.
But today was different.
Today, her grandsons—Sawyer and Creighton, the two most powerful toddlers to ever exist—had lifted entire cows, casually chopped down hundreds of trees with their bare hands, and probably altered the gravitational pull of the planet in the process.
Their mighty strength had made the chores go faster, and Grammy was grateful.
However, the ruse had to be maintained.
So, despite the fact that they had just performed agriculture-related superhero feats, she still strapped them into their little child seats in the car. Because, of course, the world must never know their true identities.
Even superheroes needed plausible deniability.
When they arrived home, Grammy unbuckled the boys and set them down.
She took Creighton’s hand in one of hers and Sawyer’s hand in the other, leading them toward the house, where DoDad was waiting with lunch.
And then—tragedy struck.
Sawyer, for all his godlike strength and supreme intelligence, had a moment of weakness.
His foot caught on an invisible force (possibly gravity, possibly betrayal, possibly an interdimensional anomaly).
He fell.
And with a mighty impact, his head KABONKED against the ground.
The earth trembled.
Birds flew from the trees.
Somewhere in the distance, a lone horse reared up, sensing the shift in cosmic energy.
Grammy gasped, clutching her pearls despite not wearing any.
“SAWYER!” she cried, dropping to her knees in dramatic slow motion, like a movie heroine whose beloved had just fallen in battle.
Creighton, ever the level-headed genius, tugged at her coat.
“Do not fear, Grammy,” he said calmly, adjusting his diaper like a seasoned war veteran. “His Wolverine-like healing factor will activate any second now.”
Grammy stared down at Sawyer in shock.
Could it be true? Could her sweet baby grandson have the power of instant regeneration?
The ground hummed.
The air crackled.
And then—
Sawyer stood up.
Triumphantly.
Like a warrior returning from the battlefield, he lifted his tiny chin, his eyes glowing with ancient power.
Where once there had been a bruise from the KABONK, now there was nothing.
No wound. No evidence of pain.
Only strength.
He flexed his tiny fists, and somewhere in the universe, a solar flare erupted in response.
The KABONK had not weakened him—no, it had made him stronger.
A single leaf blew across the yard and landed at his feet, as if the earth itself was bowing before its new champion.
Creighton nodded approvingly. “I told you,” he murmured.
Grammy, overcome with emotion, wiped a tear from her eye. “You boys are incredible,” she whispered.
Sawyer simply nodded, as if to say:
“I know.”
With their latest adventure complete, the trio entered the house, where DoDad awaited them with lunch.
“Hello, boys!” DoDad said, flipping a grilled cheese sandwich with the confidence of a seasoned warrior.
“Greetings, DoDad,” Creighton replied, taking a seat as if he had just returned from a world-saving mission (which, in fairness, he had).
Sawyer, still glowing from his KABONK-induced power boost, took his place at the table. His mere presence radiated strength, and the kitchen felt warmer than before—as if the sun itself had acknowledged his greatness.
Grammy sighed, finally allowing herself to relax.
