Chapter Text
The story began, as many do, not with a dramatic entrance or explosion; but instead a loud sound—in this case, a splash—in the middle of the night.
Except the only person in the household who heard it was not the adults in the house. No, it was their only son. If you perhaps ignore the fact that that reason is the nearest pond to their house was at least a half of a mile away.
Regardless, the son might’ve dismissed it if it wasn’t followed up by the sound of coughing and a young boy crying.
So, young Clark Kent left his bedroom. He rubbed his eye, entering his parent’s room without knocking.
“Ma?” he called. “Pa? Someone fell into the nearby pond.”
The hall light combined with the voice of their son rustled them both from sleep.
“Wha’ happened?” Pa asked through a fat yawn. Ma, having more of an awakeness to her—it was close to the dawn, anyway—peered at Clark.
“Pa, Clark said someone fell in the pond.”
“Really? Could be some teens causin’ a ruckus,” Pa dismissed. Clark shook his head.
“It was a kid, like me,” he insisted. The parent unit of the Kent’s shared a look, and Pa arose from bed.
“Are ya sure?”
“Mmhm.”
Pa nodded, grabbing his bathrobe and walking past Clark.
“Let’s go get the tractor.”
The sun was not yet out, but the sky was going from pitch black to navy blue as Jonathan and Clark Kent drove the tractor from their barn to the nearby pond. Jonathan of course was not typically dismissive of Clark’s claims, but it was the middle of summer. Smallville may be quiet, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t full of troublesome teens and small-time crime. Just as any town in Kansas, really.
Jonathan would know. He was a teen, too, once.
Regardless, Clark was incredibly serious about this. He had even grabbed two flashlights and a towel by the time Jonathan hit the first floor of their farm house. All it is to say: if it was indeed a child in the pond, Jonathan wouldn’t be surprised if he was on the edge of a slumber party who dared him to jump in. Despite the chill dawn brought, there was nothing stopping a kid from impressing his friends.
He just hoped that the kid knew how to tread water.
Clark leaned, keeping a keen eye out through the windshield. Whatever happened had him serious enough to have a bit of a glare—one Jonathan only saw measured by studying for seventh grade math and reading a serious scene in a chapter book.
The drive to the pond only took a few minutes, but Jonathan grew more and more worried. Clark hadn’t said anything else, so his hope was that the kid was alright. Perhaps when they got there, he’d already be gone.
That was not the case.
The headlights beamed onto the pond. Clark leapt out immediately, landing impeccably before fiddling with his flashlight. Pa shuffled out, slinging the towel over his shoulder and turning on his. They split up, rounding the pond.
And Jonathan ended up finding him first.
A young boy, perhaps only a year or so younger than Clark. He sat, shivering, in clothes Jonathan had never seen before. His blond hair stuck to his face in thick, wet strands as he stared emptily into the pond.
“Shoot,” Jonathan swore, quickly approaching. “Clark, over here!”
The boy still stared emptily into the pond, lips turning blue. Jonathan knelt beside him, worry crinkling his brow.
“You alright, son?” Jonathan asked. The boy didn’t reply. Jonathan, due to the angle, haphazardly wrapped the towel around the young boy. That seemed to jolt him out of the state he was in, if only for a moment.
The young boy had dark eyes. Despite being drenched, Jonathan could tell he had been crying.
“I lost my grip on it,” the boy whispered, sniffling, eyes still wide. He seemed so rigid, unable to relax. Jonathan frowned at the look in his eyes; it was a look he’d only seen in war veterans and survivors of terrorist attacks.
“Lost what?” Jonathan questioned.
“The sword. I lost it. I-I failed.”
“‘Failed?’” Jonathan echoed, but the boy spoke no more. Clark had reached them by this point.
“Who is that, Pa?” he asked. Jonathan shook his head.
“Dunno. Son, what’s your name?”
“A-Adam,” he managed to whisper, teeth still chattering.
“My name is Jonathan Kent, and this is my son, Clark. Is it ok if I pick you up, or can you walk?”
Adam seemed to lose his grip on reality again, fresh tears pouring down his cheeks as his shoulders trembled. Jonathan opted to carefully pick him up, making sure to physically know Adam could reject him if needed. But he didn’t, instead burying his face into the man’s chest and wailed.
“Let’s get him home,” Jonathan murmured, managing to rub his back some as he carried him back to the tractor.
Adam was quiet the rest of the way, tears still leaking from his waterline. An occasional sob would wrack his body, a sniffle to clear his nose, but he didn’t talk much anymore. His shivering had ceased, which was relieving, and his lips had slowly but surely returned to a normal color. Clark at some point had reached over and took his hand, offering no words for the moment. It seemed he was always good at reading how people needed to be comforted like that. Jonathan watched for a moment as Clark squeezed his hand, and Adam squeezed back just as tight.
The sky had only turned a few shades lighter by the time they reached the farmhouse. The lights were now all on, awaiting the patriarch and son from their morning excursion. Martha was sitting on the iron bench outside, bathrobe tucked around her body as she watched for them. The moment the tractor headlights reached a certain point she jumped to her feet.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” she swore, seeing the soaked boy from the pond after Jonathan parked the tractor in front. “Whose he?”
“Adam,” Clark supplied as Jonathan gathered him in his arms once more. “I think something happened to him.”
“Well, obviously!” Ma said sharply with concern. She then sighed. “Bring him in. It’s nippy out here.”
Jonathan brought Adam inside, who had gone from completely drenched to perfectly damp. Clark followed, still holding his hand.
Jonathan sat him down in an extra chair at the dining table as Martha hurried to put the kettle on.
“Clark, go get some extra clothes from your wardrobe.”
“Yes, Ma,” Clark hurried off. As the water boiled, both parents sat at the table with Adam. Ma couldn’t help but look at the boy’s clothing. It was like nothing she’d seen, not around these parts. Embroidered with golden strands, with material that looked expensive enough to sell a kidney for.
“My name is Martha. Adam, can you tell us what your parents’ phone number is?” Martha asked, voice now a bit softer. Adam didn’t reply for a moment, blinking.
“Ph-phone number?” he hiccupped. Martha and Jonathan shared a look.
“Y’know, to call them,” Martha soothed. Adam shook his head.
“My parents are…” He held the towel tighter to himself, unable to look them in the eye any further. “You wouldn’t be able to contact them.” His voice had taken on a certain edge that made their hearts drop. The obvious—the mere suggestion of it—didn’t have to be stated out loud.
“Oh dear…” Martha murmured.
“Son, what happened? Why were you in the pond so early in the mornin’?” Jonathan prodded gently. Adam once again took a moment to respond, staring at the table.
“They—I—” he paused, gave them a glance, and sniffled. “My home planet Eternia was attacked. I was sent through a portal with a powerful sword, but I—” A sob strangled through his throat again. “It’s gone.”
“Wait, wait, planet?” Pa said, flabbergasted. “Are ya sayin’ you’re not from here?”
Adam shook his head, so small he could pull his knees up to his chest. As he hugged himself, the two exited the room to talk.
“He’s just like…” Jonathan started, but didn’t finish. They had not yet told Clark about his true origins, though they suspected he was already beginning to figure it out.
“I know,” Martha said softly.
Jonathan rubbed his face in thought. Clark came back down then, holding a change of clothing. Martha turned back to the kitchen as the kettle began to whistle. She made a mug of hot chocolate despite it being very out of season, giving it to Adam. Adam stared at the mug for a long moment, studying it curiously despite his despondency.
“Don’t you know what hot cocoa is?” Clark questioned, setting the neatly folded clothes on the table. Martha and Jonathan studied the exchange carefully.
“No, um, what is it?”
“It’s a drink! You drink it to get warm. It’s really good.”
Adam slowly picked the mug up, the steam hitting his face in comforting caresses. He sniffed it before taking a drink, flinching from how hot it was. Clark sat beside him, pointing to the mug.
“Drink it slowly, and not all at once,” Clark said, echoing the advice Martha gave him years ago when he had his first mug. Of course, the heat hadn’t really bothered him, but it was the thought that counts.
“It is good,” Adam said quietly. Clark beamed like the sun. Jonathan and Martha shared a sigh of relief as Adam seemed to relax, even gaining a small smile on his face. Adam began to drink more, following Clark’s instructions, his legs sliding off the chair as he sat normally.
“What’s Eternia like?” Clark asked casually, because of course he heard about that. Adam stopped drinking, contemplative.
“It’s beautiful!” he said after a moment. “You should see it in the springtime…”
Adam went into a ramble about his home, from his green tiger Cringer—huh?—to the people and landscape.
“I’m the crown prince,” Adam revealed afterward with pride. “My parents…” He paused, shoulders drooping as he seemed to remember what had transpired. “I don’t know if they’re alive or…” His bottom lip trembled and his hand tightened on the mug like a lifeline. Clark rubbed his back.
“From what you said about Eternians being super strong, I think they’re okay,” Clark said soothingly. Adam nodded solemnly, unsure if he could believe that himself. “What was that sword you kept talking about?”
“It’s the Sword of Power. It’s been in my family for generations,” Adam said, quieter now. “I lost it while coming to… here.”
Clark made a mental note to go back to the pond later and search. For now, he just nodded.
“Hey, Adam, you should get a shower. You’ll catch a cold if you stay in those clothes for much longer,” Martha called. Adam glanced back, glanced back at his cooling mug, and finished the last dregs. Adam grabbed Clark’s spare clothing as Martha guided him to the bathroom. Jonathan couldn’t help but feel pride at how Clark handled Adam, the boy getting out of his chair.
“I’m proud of you,” Jonathan said as much, making Clark smile. “C’mon, let’s go get started on the chores while Ma helps Adam.”
An hour later after the cows and wheat were tended to, Clark and Jonathan came back to breakfast being made.
Due to Clark being older, Adam was a bit dwarfed in his clothing, making him look even smaller than he was. Regardless, he looked less bedraggled, if still a bit wet in the eyes. Martha was busy cooking eggs and bacon, coffee already waiting for Jonathan just how he liked it. He picked it up, taking a long sip.
“How long do you plan on staying?” Clark asked.
“Mom didn’t give a time frame…” Adam said quietly. “Until I’m fully grown, maybe.”
Clark nodded, tugging on his sleeve.
“Hey, you wanna see my room?”
Adam nodded enthusiastically, Clark guiding him upstairs.
“Don’t take too long!” Martha called. “Breakfast’ll be ready in a few minutes!”
“Okay!” Clark called back. Adam was enraptured upon entering Clark’s room. The bed was unmade due to the hurriedness he had left it a while ago. Posters and figures laid all around the room, CD’s and DVD’s and other such things Adam didn’t really have names for. He picked up one figure from his shelving, angling him around. He held some sort of translucent blue stick, with clothes that looked similar to Eternian’s. It made his heart ache.
“That’s Luke Skywalker from Star Wars,” Clark said casually. “Have you heard of it?”
“No. Is that some sort of historical record?”
Clark chuckled. “No, no, it’s a movie—kind of like a book, but with moving pictures.”
“I like pictures,” Adam said. “Like drawings?”
“No, real people—maybe we can watch some sometime. You draw?”
Adam nodded, smiling. “It’s my favorite activity. Better than swordplay.”
Clark hurried and produced a lined pad of paper he used as a makeshift sketchbook and pencil. He handed it to Adam, who placed Luke on the bedspread.
“Draw something!” Clark said excitedly, sitting Adam down on the bed.
“Like what?”
“Anything!”
Adam studied the paper for a moment, looked at the pencil, and began to draw. He began with a scribbly Sword of Power, moving on to some bits of architecture that he could remember, and finally, he hesitated before drawing his parents.
“Are they your parents?”
“Mmhm. Marlena and Randor,” Adam said, caressing the pages as if his parents could feel it. He furrowed his brows, waterline filling once more. “I hope they’re okay,” he mumbled, voice cracking. Clark gave him a one-sided hug.
Downstairs, Jonathan and Martha continued their conversation from earlier.
“What’re we gonna do?” Jonathan asked.
“Well, we sure can’t send him back out on the street. And he’s not exactly a baby like Clark was.”
“No, he ain’t,” Jonathan sighed. “Whatever happened on this planet of his, it was obviously very bad. I’ve never seen a kid like him have such a look in his eyes.”
Martha shook her head, placing the bacon onto a paper towel lined plate. As she began to dab away the excess grease, she looked contemplative.
“We may have to bring him to the city’s orphanage.”
“Martha, you saw how easily he told us about his life story. We only believe him because—well—” Jonathan gestured in the vague direction of the old shed, the structure in disuse since it was used to hide the spacepod they had found Clark in.
“I know. But the government will just see him as another kid who lost his parents. We can’t just go and say ‘oh, we had another ten years ago, but never bothered gettin’ him his shots or enrollin’ him in school.’”
“...I’d just hate to separate him from Clark,” Jonathan said, quieter now. “They got along so quick—he needs someone like Clark. And Clark, well, he’s gonna need someone like him, when we…”
Martha let out a long sigh, pausing in her dabbling.
“We… well. We could try… we could apply to foster him, at the least, I’d think.”
Jonathan looked up at her then. Suddenly they were twelve years younger, with a newborn baby alien held to Martha’s chest, unsure of the future once more. At least then, it was easier; to say Clark was an oops baby, kept secret due to Martha’s previous miscarriages, their rainbow after all the rain. It was almost uncanny how much Clark looked like them. Here, Adam was grown, and looked so differently it was like night and day.
And yet, resolve held firm between them.
“What’s two of ‘em, right?” Jonathan chuckled, soft in the eyes. Martha shook her head.
“Big ol’ teddy bear, y’are,” she said playfully, seriously. Jonathan stole a bacon strip, just missing Martha’s swat by a hair.
“We’ll drive out tomorrow, then.”
“Tomorrow,” Martha confirmed. “Boys! Breakfast!”
Six months, a lot of court dates, and a dip into savings later—Adam, Prince of Eternia became simply, for the time being, “Adam Kent.”
It had been a long, arduous process. Adam had, after all, dropped in from nowhere with no birth certificate, social security number—nothing to prove he was even born. There was no next of kin, and the child therapist said his imagination was overactive. Trauma, they said. Severe PTSD. From what, they couldn’t tell. Dead parents, at the least. Isolated cult? Neglectful parents? There was no real answer, because Adam couldn’t give them one.
Regardless, due to the repertoire already built on top of their reputation, the Kent’s were granted custody.
Clark had scaled the area around the pond in the meantime when he could but unfortunately could not find the sword Adam had drawn. He had even expanded his perimeter—there was nothing.
Adam’s shoulders had drooped at the news,
“But it’s not your fault,” he had reassured Clark. “Thank you for looking.”
The Kent’s had one other spare bedroom, which they had prepared in Adam’s long absence. The bedroom was bare only because they wanted Adam to pick his own decorations, but it had the basics: bedspread, lamp, desk and chair. They had even gotten him some drawing materials and a corkboard.
“I love it,” Adam said gratefully. Clark sat the Luke Skywalker figure he had picked up all those months ago onto his desk; his own personal “welcome home” present.
And that night, despite it being a school one (signed off by Ma and Pa, since Adam wouldn’t start until Monday to get settled), the two boys sat in the living room. Clark had pulled out a large milk crate full of DVDs, pulling out the one for Star Wars IV—A NEW HOPE.
“You’re gonna love it,” Clark assured as he began to work on the DVD player. Adam watched, fascinated, as he was with a lot of Earth’s technology. Martha had caught him earlier fiddling with the radio, and then the coffee pot.
“If it’s something you like, I think I will,” Adam said with a smile. They had made a pillow fort out of couch cushions and bedsheets, a large, fresh bowl of popcorn and sweet tea with them. Adam had already tried sweet tea, but he hadn’t tried popcorn yet. While Clark got the player working, he took the opportunity to try it. “Oh, wow! This stuff is amazing!”
(It came out more like, “Oh, whow! Thish shtuff ish amashing!” but Clark only giggled at it)
“Have as much as you want. Ma’s got more Jiffy Pop in the cabinets.”
The DVD began to play, and the boys huddled in for a long night.
Later, when Martha and Jonathan came down to check on them, they’d find them halfway through Star Wars VI—RETURN OF THE JEDI. The boys were asleep, Clark’s hand splayed on Adam’s back, like they had been in the middle of laughing together.
The two shared a look, and shared a relieved expression.
It looked like they had made the right choice, in the end.