Smallville 1985
The late summer morning dawned bright and clear over the Kent family farm, painting the Kansas sky in brilliant shades of gold and amber. Martha Kent stood in her kitchen, carefully packing a lunch box decorated with colorful dinosaurs. Through the window, she could see Jonathan showing Clark how to feed the chickens, their matching flannel shirts making them look even more like father and son despite their different origins.
"Remember, buddy," Jonathan was saying, demonstrating the proper way to scatter the feed, "not too much at once. Just like we practiced."
Five-year-old Clark nodded seriously, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration as he tried to mimic his father's movements. His first attempt sent feed scattering everywhere, startling the chickens into a momentary frenzy. But the second try was better, and by the third, he had nearly mastered the gentle throwing motion.
"That's it!" Jonathan beamed with pride. "You're a natural, son."
Clark's face lit up at the praise, but his smile quickly turned to concern as he noticed one of the younger chickens had gotten separated from the group. Without hesitation, he moved to help guide it back, his movements careful and deliberate. Jonathan watched, his heart swelling with pride at his son's innate gentleness.
It had been nearly five years since they'd found Clark in that cornfield, five years of joy and wonder and occasional terror as they discovered what their alien son could do. The first sign had come when he was barely two, lifting his crib clean off the floor when he was supposed to be napping. Then came the day he'd accidentally crushed a metal toy car in his excitement, leaving perfect finger impressions in the die-cast material.
Each new ability had brought fresh challenges, but also deepened the bond between them. Martha and Jonathan had learned to take it all in stride, treating each manifestation of Clark's uniqueness as something natural and normal, never letting him feel afraid of what he could do.
Krypto, now a handsome full-grown dog, lay in the shade of the barn watching over his young charge. The white dog's enhanced abilities had become apparent early on, matching Clark's development in many ways. He could leap impossible distances, move faster than any normal dog, and seemed to understand complex instructions with an almost human level of comprehension. More importantly, he was utterly devoted to Clark, following the boy everywhere and serving as both playmate and protector.
"Time to come in, boys!" Martha called from the back door. "Can't be late for Clark's first day of school!"
At the word 'school', Clark's expression shifted from contentment to anxiety. For weeks, he'd alternated between excitement and nervousness about starting kindergarten, peppering his parents with endless questions. What would the other kids be like? Would they notice he was different? Could he make friends without accidentally revealing his strength?
Martha and Jonathan had done their best to prepare him, but they knew their son faced challenges that no parent's guide or childhood development book could address. How do you teach a five-year-old with superhuman strength to play safely with other children? How do you explain to a boy who can hear for miles that he needs to pretend not to hear the whispered conversations across the room?
"Remember what we talked about?" Jonathan asked gently as they walked back to the house. The morning sun cast long shadows across the farmyard, where Krypto was already waiting by the door, sensing it was time to go.
Clark nodded solemnly, his blue eyes intense with concentration. "Be careful. Don't show off. Try not to break anything." He recited each rule carefully, the way he did everything – with a thoughtfulness beyond his years.
"That's right. But most importantly?"
"Be kind," Clark finished, reciting the lesson they'd instilled in him since he could first understand words. "Always be kind."
"And why is that the most important thing?" Jonathan prompted, using their familiar call-and-response pattern.
Clark thought for a moment, his small face serious. "Because being strong doesn't matter if you're not good. And because everyone deserves kindness, even if they're different." He paused, then added quietly, "Like me."
Jonathan knelt down to Clark's level, placing his hands on his son's shoulders. "You are different, son. But different isn't bad. Different just means special. And being special means having a special responsibility to help others whenever you can – just in careful ways that don't draw too much attention."
Inside, Martha had laid out Clark's new clothes – a red and blue plaid shirt that echoed Jonathan's usual attire, fresh jeans carefully chosen for their durability (they'd learned early on that normal children's clothes often couldn't withstand Clark's activities), and sturdy new sneakers with extra-reinforced toes.
As she helped him get ready, Martha couldn't help but marvel at how much he'd grown. His dark hair had the same unruly curl as Jor-El's had shown in the hologram, but his mannerisms were pure Jonathan – right down to the way he carefully tucked in his shirt without being asked. Sometimes it struck her how seamlessly their alien son had absorbed their earthly habits, becoming a perfect blend of his two worlds, even if he didn't yet know about his true origins.
"Now remember," Martha said as she combed his hair, fighting the same stubborn cowlick she tackled every morning, "Mrs. Wilson's class is right next to the playground. If you start feeling overwhelmed – if things get too loud or too bright or too much – you just tell her you need some air, okay?"
They'd had several meetings with the kindergarten teacher over the summer, explaining that Clark sometimes experienced what they called "sensory overload" – their careful way of describing how his enhanced senses could sometimes become too much for him to handle. Mrs. Wilson, a veteran teacher known for her gentle approach with anxious children, had been understanding and accommodating.
"And Krypto will be there too," Martha reminded him, seeing the worry in his eyes. "Remember what we practiced? If things start feeling overwhelming, you can just pat his head three times, and he'll help you stay calm."
The white dog's ears perked up at the mention of his name. They'd spent months training him to recognize signs of Clark's distress, though truthfully, the enhanced canine seemed to have an innate understanding of when his young charge needed support. The school board had taken some convincing, but they'd finally gotten permission for Krypto to accompany Clark as a "therapy dog" – another carefully constructed explanation that wasn't entirely untrue.
Clark knelt to hug Krypto, burying his face in the dog's thick white fur. "You'll stay with me the whole time?" he whispered. Krypto responded with a soft whine and a gentle lick to Clark's cheek.
The drive to Smallville Elementary was quiet, the Kansas landscape rolling past in waves of late summer gold. Clark sat in the back seat with Krypto's head resting on his lap, both of them watching the familiar farmland give way to the outskirts of town. Martha kept glancing in the rearview mirror, her heart aching with a mother's mixture of pride and worry.
Jonathan reached across to squeeze her hand, understanding without words the emotions warring inside her. They'd known this day would come – the day their extraordinary son would have to start navigating the wider world. They'd prepared as best they could, but still, the moment felt monumental.
The school parking lot was bustling with activity – parents dropping off children, older kids heading to their familiar classrooms, younger ones clinging nervously to their parents' hands. Yellow buses lined up along the curb, disgorging streams of students into the organized chaos of the first day. Martha felt Clark's grip tighten as they walked toward the kindergarten building.
"Look," she said encouragingly, pointing to a little girl with bright red pigtails who was walking in with her mother. The girl was wearing a flowery dress and carrying a lunchbox decorated with unicorns. "That must be Lana Lang. And over there," she nodded toward a dark-skinned boy who was hugging his mother goodbye, "that's Pete Ross. They'll be in your class too."
Clark watched the other children with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. He'd had limited interaction with kids his age, their visits to town carefully timed and monitored to avoid any incidents. Now he would be spending whole days with them, trying to fit in while carrying the weight of his secret.
Clark nodded, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he recognized familiar faces. The sight of other nervous kids seemed to help too, reminding him that everyone was in the same boat.
Mrs. Wilson met them at the classroom door, her warm smile immediately putting Clark more at ease. "Welcome, Clark! And this must be Krypto. We've got a special spot all ready for him right by your desk."
Mrs. Wilson met them at the classroom door, her warm smile immediately putting Clark more at ease. "Welcome, Clark! And this must be Krypto. We've got a special spot all ready for him right by your desk."
The classroom was bright and cheerful, with colorful alphabet charts on the walls and little tables arranged in friendly circles. Mrs. Wilson greeted each new student warmly, directing them to tables marked with their names. Clark found his spot at a blue table, Krypto settling dutifully at his feet.
A girl with bright red pigtails approached the table, her unicorn lunchbox clutched tightly to her chest. She hesitated for a moment before sitting down in the chair next to Clark's. "Hi," she said shyly. "I'm Lana. Is that your dog?"
Clark nodded, grateful for an easy topic of conversation. "His name is Krypto. He's my best friend."
"He's beautiful," Lana said, her green eyes wide with admiration. "I always wanted a dog, but my mom says our apartment's too small." She paused, then added hopefully, "Could I maybe pet him?"
Clark looked to his mother, who was talking quietly with Mrs. Wilson. At her encouraging nod, he said, "Sure. He likes it when you scratch behind his ears."
As Lana carefully reached out to pet Krypto, another student approached their table - the boy Clark had seen earlier saying goodbye to his mother. He was wearing a Kansas City Royals baseball cap and had a friendly, open face.
"Cool dog!" the boy exclaimed, dropping into the chair across from them. "I'm Pete Ross. We've got two dogs at home, but they're just regular dogs. Your dog looks special."
"He is special," Clark said proudly, then quickly remembered his parents' warnings about drawing attention. "I mean, he's really smart and helps me when I get nervous."
Krypto, seeming to sense the conversation was about him, sat up straighter and gave both Lana and Pete his most dignified look, which made them giggle. Then he deliberately placed one paw on Pete's knee and extended the other toward Lana in what looked remarkably like a handshake.
"Wow!" Pete laughed, shaking the offered paw. "He really is smart!"
"Like a person in a dog suit," Lana added, delightedly accepting her own pawshake.
Clark felt himself relaxing slightly. He'd been so worried about fitting in, about controlling his strength and not revealing anything unusual, but Krypto was making it easier. The dog was special too, after all, but people just accepted him as he was.
"I'm Clark," he finally introduced himself properly. "Clark Kent. We live on a farm outside town."
"With lots of animals?" Lana asked eagerly. "Besides Krypto?"
Clark nodded, warming to the subject. "We have chickens and cows. And barn cats. Krypto helps watch over them all."
"That's so cool," Pete said. "My dad's a lawyer, so we just have a boring house in town. But sometimes we go fishing at Crater Lake."
"I've never been fishing," Clark admitted. He'd been nervous about water activities, given his unusual density and strength.
"Maybe you could come with us sometime," Pete offered easily. "Dad says fishing's more fun with friends."
The word 'friends' made Clark's heart lift. He'd barely been in school ten minutes, and already Pete was talking about future plans together. Maybe this wouldn't be so hard after all.
Martha watched the interaction with a mixture of pride and concern. Clark was already showing the careful thoughtfulness they'd tried to instill in him, but she could see the slight tension in his shoulders that meant he was working hard to control his strength as he handled the crayons and papers being passed around.
"He'll be fine," Mrs. Wilson said softly, noticing Martha's worried expression. "Children have a wonderful way of finding their place. And it looks like he's already making friends."
Martha nodded, fighting back the urge to stay just a little longer. "We'll be back to pick him up at three," she said, giving Clark one final hug. "Have a wonderful day, sweetheart."
As she walked back to the car, Martha glanced over her shoulder. Clark was showing Lana and Pete how to draw a chicken while Krypto watched attentively, offering an occasional encouraging bark when they got frustrated. The sight helped ease the knot of worry in her chest. Their son might be different in remarkable ways, but in this moment, he was just another kindergartener starting his first day of school, making his first real friends.
The morning passed in a blur of activities designed to help the children get to know each other. They sang songs, learned classroom rules, and played simple games that had them all giggling. Clark found himself relaxing more and more, especially when he realized that Lana and Pete seemed to actually want to be his friends.
During their snack break, Lana shared her cookies with the table, and Pete told funny stories about his older brothers. Clark carefully ate his own snack, remembering to take small bites and chew slowly like his parents had taught him, making sure to keep his movements measured and controlled.
It wasn't until recess that the first real challenge came. They were playing a game of tag, and Clark, caught up in the excitement, nearly used his full speed when chasing after Pete. He caught himself just in time, forcing himself to run slower, more like the other kids. The effort of holding back made him trip, and he went sprawling in the dirt.
Before he could even feel embarrassed, Lana and Pete were there, helping him up and brushing off his clothes. "Are you okay?" Lana asked, her green eyes wide with concern.
"I'm fine," Clark assured her, touched by their immediate care. "Just clumsy, I guess."
"That's okay," Pete said cheerfully. "My mom says everybody falls sometimes. Even Captain America probably tripped when he was learning to run with his super-strength!"
Clark tilted his head curiously. "Captain America?"
"Yeah! My grandpa fought in the war with him!" Pete's eyes lit up with pride. "He said Captain America was just a regular guy until scientists made him super strong and fast. He could lift motorcycles over his head and outrun cars! Dad showed me all these old newsreels of him fighting bad guys."
"That sounds amazing," Clark said carefully, trying not to show how deeply interested he was in hearing about someone else who was different, who used their strength to help people and inspire others.
The rest of the day passed smoothly, though Clark had to concentrate during art time to handle the crayons gently and not press too hard on the paper. By the time the final bell rang, he was tired from the constant effort of controlling his abilities, but also happily satisfied with his first day of school.
Martha and Jonathan were waiting in the pickup line, and Clark ran to them with Krypto at his heels, bursting to tell them about his day. "Mom! Dad! I made friends! And we learned about the alphabet, and Mrs. Wilson read us a story about a caterpillar, and Lana shared her cookies, and Pete told me about Captain America, and..."
The stream of excited chatter continued all the way home, bringing smiles to both parents' faces. Their son had taken his first big step into the wider world, and while there would undoubtedly be challenges ahead, for now, they could celebrate this milestone.
That evening, as Martha tucked Clark into bed, she noticed him looking thoughtful. "What's on your mind, sweetheart?"
"Pete was talking about Captain America," Clark said slowly. "He was different too, like me. And he used his strength to help people. Do you think... do you think I could help people someday?"
Martha's heart squeezed with emotion. "Oh, Clark," she said softly, smoothing his hair. "I think you already help people, just by being your kind, wonderful self. And someday, when you're older, I know you'll find even more ways to make the world better."
Clark smiled sleepily, comforted by her words. "Pete says Captain America always stood up for what was right, even before he got strong. His grandpa said he was a hero because of what was in his heart, not just because he was powerful."
As Clark drifted off to sleep, Martha watched him for a moment, touched by how her extraordinary son had found inspiration in the story of another person who'd used their gifts to help others. Perhaps it was fitting that on his first day of school, Clark had learned about someone else who had to balance being different with doing what was right.
The next few weeks fell into a comfortable routine. Clark, Lana, and Pete became inseparable, their natural friendship deepening as they shared lunches, played at recess, and worked together on classroom projects. Mrs. Wilson often commented on how well they complemented each other .
At home, Clark continued to help with chores around the farm, though his growing strength meant they had to be increasingly careful about which tasks he could safely perform. One memorable afternoon, about a month into the school year, brought this point home dramatically.
Jonathan was changing a flat tire on the tractor, with Clark eagerly "helping" by handing him tools. As Jonathan struggled with a particularly stubborn lug nut, Clark asked, "Can I try, Dad?"
"Sure, buddy," Jonathan said, thinking Clark merely wanted to pretend with the wrench. "Just be careful not to hurt yourself."
Instead, Clark simply reached down and lifted the entire front end of the tractor off the ground, holding it steady with one hand while reaching for the tire with the other. "Is this helpful?" he asked innocently.
Jonathan stood frozen for a moment, still amazed despite having witnessed Clark's strength before. "That's... that's very helpful, son," he managed to say. "But maybe we should put it back down and use the jack like regular folks would."
Clark carefully lowered the tractor, looking uncertain. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No, no," Jonathan assured him quickly. "What you did was amazing. But remember what we talked about? About being careful with your special abilities?"
Clark nodded seriously. "Because not everyone understands, and some people might be scared."
"That's right." Jonathan knelt down to Clark's level. "You have incredible gifts, son. But with those gifts comes responsibility. We have to be extra careful, extra thoughtful about how we use them."
"Like Captain America?" Clark asked, remembering Pete's stories about the legendary hero. "Pete says his grandpa told him that even before the super-soldier serum, Captain America always knew the right thing to do. That his strength wasn't just in his muscles."
Jonathan smiled. "That's exactly right. Having power isn't what makes someone a hero - it's how they choose to use that power. Now, how about you help me with these lug nuts? Just... maybe not quite so much strength this time?"
The incident with the tractor led to more detailed conversations about Clark's abilities. Martha and Jonathan worked to help him understand not just the physical aspects of his powers, but the moral implications as well. They talked about the importance of using his strength to help others, but also about the need for discretion and control.
As autumn settled over Kansas, bringing with it golden leaves and crisp mornings, Clark continued to grow both in his abilities and his understanding of how to manage them. He learned to modulate his strength when playing with other children, to control his speed during games, and to handle his enhanced senses without becoming overwhelmed.
Lana and Pete proved to be true friends, accepting Clark's occasional oddities without question. When he sometimes needed to step away from noisy situations, they would simply follow him to a quieter spot. If he seemed distracted by sounds or sights they couldn't perceive, they would help redirect his attention back to their games or conversations.
One particularly memorable autumn day, the three friends were playing in the schoolyard when Clark's enhanced hearing picked up a disturbance near the old oak tree. Whitney Fordman, a second grader known for bullying younger kids, had cornered Greg Sanders, a shy kindergartener who'd recently moved to Smallville. Clark could hear Greg's distressed whimpers before anyone else noticed, along with Whitney's taunting words.
"My dad says your family's dirt poor," Whitney was saying, dangling Greg's worn lunch box just out of reach. "Bet there's nothing good in here anyway."
Clark's hands clenched involuntarily, his growing strength making the playground gravel crunch beneath his feet. He thought about how easily he could stop Whitney – one quick burst of speed, one moment of using his real strength, and it would be over. But his father's words echoed in his mind: "The hardest part of having power isn't knowing when to use it, son. It's knowing when not to."
"We should help him," Clark said to his friends, already starting to move in that direction.
Lana and Pete exchanged a glance, then nodded in agreement. Pete looked nervous – Whitney was known for having a mean right hook – but he stood firmly beside his friend. Lana's green eyes flashed with determination as she followed.
"Look," Whitney was saying to the gathering crowd of students, "he's crying like a baby!" Greg had indeed started to cry, his face red with humiliation as other children began to gather around.
"Give it back," Clark said quietly but firmly as they approached. The other children fell silent, surprised to see the usually quiet Kent boy speaking up.
Whitney turned, his face darkening when he saw who had interrupted his fun. "What are you going to do about it, Kent? You're just a kindergarten baby yourself."
Clark felt his muscles tense as Whitney took a threatening step forward. He could smell the older boy's sweat, hear his heartbeat quickening with aggression. It would be so easy to end this with one quick movement. Instead, he took a deep breath and remembered what his mother had taught him about finding peaceful solutions.
"You know what I don't understand, Whitney?" Clark asked, keeping his voice calm. "Someone as strong as you – why pick on someone smaller? That's not real strength. My dad says real strength is about helping people, not hurting them."
Whitney faltered slightly, clearly not expecting this response. "You don't know anything about strength, Kent. My dad says–"
"I know your dad's been teaching you boxing," Clark interrupted gently. "Pete told me. That's pretty amazing. But wouldn't it be better to use that to help younger kids learn to defend themselves instead of scaring them?"
This caught Whitney off guard. The mention of boxing – something he was genuinely proud of – seemed to reach past his defensive anger. His grip on Greg's lunch box loosened slightly.
"And we're going to tell Mrs. Wilson," Clark continued, not as a threat but as a simple statement of fact. "Not just about today, but about all the other times too. And then we're going to sit with Greg at lunch. Every day. Because that's what friends do – they look out for each other."
The simple sincerity in Clark's voice seemed to affect not just Whitney, but all the watching children. There was something in his words that made bullying seem small and mean, while kindness suddenly felt like the stronger choice.
Lana stepped forward then, her red pigtails swinging. "Why don't you join us?" she suggested to Whitney, surprising everyone. "There's plenty of room at our table. Maybe you could tell Greg about boxing – but the good parts, like discipline and practice."
Whitney looked from face to face – Clark's quiet determination, Lana's hopeful smile, Pete's nervous but steadfast presence, and finally to Greg's tear-stained but hopeful expression. Something seemed to shift in the older boy's demeanor.
"I... I was just joking around," Whitney mumbled, lowering the lunch box. He held it out to Greg, not quite meeting anyone's eyes. "Here. Sorry if I scared you."
Greg took his lunch box back with trembling hands, then did something unexpected – he smiled at Whitney. "My mom packed extra cookies today," he said softly. "Would... would you like one?"
The tension in the playground seemed to dissolve. Children who had gathered to watch a bullying incident instead witnessed something rarer and more valuable – the power of kindness to change hearts.
From that day forward, their lunch table grew. Greg became a regular addition, gradually coming out of his shell as he found true friends. And Whitney, to everyone's surprise, began to change. He still struggled with his temper sometimes, but more often than not, he could be found using his boxing knowledge to help younger kids stand up straighter and feel more confident.
Clark's parents noticed the change in the playground dynamic during their weekly visits to bring forgotten lunches or help with school events. They watched their son navigate these complex social waters with a wisdom beyond his years, using his heart more than his strength to solve problems.