"Alfred!" cried the boy. "Alfred, where are you?" He sighed heavily and sat down on the dirt. He looked at the dirt road ahead of him. Where am I? he thought. Freezing, he wrapped his coat around him and started walking.
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"Jonathan, Clark, dinner!" called Martha Kent. She heard a loud breeze, and turned around to see her 10-year-old son Clark sitting at the table, grinning widely. She sighed as her husband Jonathan walked in. She gave him a soft kiss on his cheek and they both sat down.
They were about halfway through dinner when they heard a knock on the door.
"I'll get it," said Martha. She made her way to the front door and opened it. She saw a boy, slightly older than Clark, unconscious on the pavement. "Oh, my god," she whispered.
"Martha? You okay?" called Jonathan.
"Um, Jon, you better come out here," came her reply. He got up and went to her. When he saw the boy he looked warily at his wife. He knew her fondness for strays, and knew exactly what she would say. He nodded and said,
"You'd better help me get him in the house." Martha smiled and nodded. They picked him up and set him to lie on the couch until he woke up.
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Rubbing his eyes, the boy sat up. Where am I? How did I get here? He was inside a house, a sharp contrast to the dirt road he had been on. He heard the stairs creak, and he spun around. A red-haired woman turned to look at him, and when she saw him awake, she smiled and came towards him. She sat down on the couch and studied his face.
"You're not from around here, are you?" she asked him. He shook his head.
"Not exactly," he replied.
"What's your name?" she asked. "Where are you from?"
"Bruce Wayne," he answered. "I'm from Gotham." She gasped and said,
"Gotham? That's so far from here," she said. "What are you doing here?"
"Where's here, exactly?"
"You're in Smallville," she replied. "Where are your parents?" Bruce sighed.
"My parents died, nearly six years ago," he said, avoiding her gaze. Martha put a comforting arm around his shoulders.
"I'm so sorry," she said. He shook his head.
"Don't be," he replied, "it wasn't your fault." He got up, in search of his jacket.
"Where are you going?" she asked. When Bruce didn't reply, Martha sighed. He said,
"To find Alfred."
"Who's Alfred?" she asked.
"My butler- my closest friend," he said shortly. He didn't feel very much like going into his past with Mrs. Kent. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned around.
"We'll get Alfred back, Bruce," she said firmly. "I promise." Upon hearing those words, Bruce smiled slightly and said,
"Thank you."
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