When Parakeet Orphanage accepted the baby from the Kents, they were in understanding. Maybe they let the baby live for religious purposes. Or perhaps they intended to have the baby, but couldn't support it. Either way, Hannah Taylor gave her normal smile, nods, and promises, and carried the baby (and its strange blanket) into his appropriate sector, placing the sleeping child comfortably in a crib and calling it a day.
She had expected, and it certainly had turned out that way for the first few weeks, to continue her newfound management position, taking replacement shifts for those who could not, and signing through paperwork in her normal, monotone routine. She had heard about the Kent farm and the meteor incident. She had prayed, of course, to make sure that they could recover. No wonder they had handed the baby over.
What she hadn't expected was to get a frantic call from the infant sector, about the Kent baby. She hadn't expected to rush from her desk, clenching emergency numbers ripped from a Yellow Pages and she most certainly didn't expect the scene unfolding before her.
The baby, of whom had just begun to sit up (much earlier than he should've) was, with the excitement of getting a new toy, lifting an armchair high above his head. Hannah fell into the same panic as the other caretakers. The chair was old – it had been lifted in by multiple construction crew and there was no way to move it. It sat where it had sat, the old ladies far too weak to pick it up and move it.
Her numbers didn't help her now.
The baby swung the chair around, barely holding onto one of its legs, and Hannah desperately tried to quell her panic. This wasn't right! No baby could perform these strongman feats! He should be shaking rattles, not year-old chairs!
The chair slipped from the baby's grasp, luckily slamming into the wall and not the child. The wall caved in, the chair breaking apart before their very eyes. At the sudden noise the child burst into tears, but the caretakers weren't quick to calm him. Neither was Hannah.
"What is he?" One of the old ladies muttered. "What do we do?"
"W-we…" Hannah began, struggling to find her voice. "U-unfortunately, I think we're going to have to separate this one from the others."
It cost a fair bit to replace the hole in the wall. It cost more for medical repairs. It cost less for a new chair. But now, the Kent baby was the only one in the orphanage to have his own room. For the next few years, Hannah watched the baby closely. The caretakers routinely swapped out, each one far too scared for their shift with the "demon baby". For once, Hannah couldn't blame them – she couldn't blame the parents who'd declined the baby over and over again.
As the years passed, the boy grew surprisingly healthily. He never developed key social skills – perhaps a fault of separating him at a young age – but his magnificent powers continued to grow. Super strength, super speed, x-ray vision; she wasn't sure if the boy was even human anymore – if he even had been in the first place.
Eventually, during another replacement shift, the boy spoke.
"Hannah?" he asked. "Why doesn't anyone like me?"
She felt her voice catch in her throat as she tried to answer. "W-well, Clark, you see… many people are afraid of what they don't understand."
"What's there to understand?" Clark asked, clearly agitated. "I'm a boy, maybe even the perfect boy!"
"That's the point, Clark." Hannah knelt down to his level, placing a calming hand on his broad shoulder. "You're too perfect for those people. They fear the unknown, Clark, and…well, a normal boy can't see through walls unless there's a hole to peep in."
Clark grumbled, but she could see tears beginning to form in his eyes. "Hush." She whispered, calmly. "People like those that help, Clark. Heroes. Everyone loves a hero. Smart, witty, strong, brave – be that person, Clark. Don't use your powers to boast. Give others a chance sometimes. Limit the use of your powers every so often.
"Be a good person Clark. They might fear you on the outside, but it's the inside that counts."
She was sure Clark took her words to heart. There was most certainly a change in the ladies' behaviour towards him. They went from calling him the "son of Satan" to "son of Jesus" in perhaps a few days. He became more popular with the other children – perhaps it was his newfound ability to fly.
Finally, as Clark passed his eighth birthday with happiness glinting in his eyes, the Kents returned in the form of Martha kent. She looked quite different – so much so, that despite having their photos on record she could barely recognise them.
"Hannah?" Martha asked, looking her dead in the eye. "I'd like to formally adopt my boy."
"Sorry?" She remembered herself asking, confused. "What do you mean?"
"Martha Kent." The woman muttered. "If Clark is still here – I'd like to adopt him."
"It's been eight long years." Hannah responded. "That boy is something else. He can fly, Martha. He can see through walls, lift whole buildings off the ground, and run faster than light. Are you still sure you want to adopt the boy?"
Martha nodded. "Yes. I know why, now, that he has all these things. The gift he was given. Please, let me adopt him so I can show him the truth."
"The truth hurts, Martha." Hannah answered, sighing as she readied the paperwork. "But alright. Fill that out, I'll go get him ready."
Now, here she was. Standing outside Kent's room. She heard the boy call her name, seeing her through the door. Hannah sighed deeply, pushing open the door. She'd grown to like the boy. It was a shame to see him go, really.
"Clark?" She asked, watching the boy put down a toy rocket he'd been playing with.
"Yes, Hannah?"
"Pack your things, honey." She answered, picking up the forgotten toy and placing it back into the small, beautifully carved wooden box. "You're going home."
The boy blinked. She watched his mouth curve into a beautiful smile. He cheered, clapped, and darted around the room. "Home!" he cried happily. "Someone likes me! I'm going home!"
The boy stopped, giving Hannah a peck on the cheek. "Thank you for everything, Hannah."
Hannah smiled. "You're welcome, Clark."
Clark grinned happily up at Martha, whom gave him a loving smile back. "Hi there! I'm Clark, it's nice to meet you!" He held out his hand, which Martha shook firmly.
"My, what a grip you have!" Martha exclaimed, giggling. "Come along, there's something waiting for you at home."
Clark's idiotic grin grew wider as he pranced away to the door, chanting "home" over and over again. "Martha." Hannah spoke, pulling away the woman's attention. "Whatever happens, please make sure that knows we're always here for him."
She didn't respond. Hannah watched in silence as they left the building. Probably never to be seen again. Well, time to convert his old room back into the tutor space. The teens would be happy.
"Mom?" Clark asked, confused. Inside his new home, a beautiful country farmhouse, were two men in tall, citron leather coats. One of the men nodded towards him.
"Clark Kent." He spoke, his voice heavy and brave. "Take a seat. We've much to discuss."
Clark took a wavering step back. "W-who are you?"
"My name is John Jones." The man responded. "And you're a special case, Clark. I know where your powers came from."
"Jonathon Kent." The other man spoke. "I'm your new father, Clark – I work with this man. You can trust him."
Clark, still pent with confusion and worry, moved to sit in a bright green armchair. Martha caressed his shoulders, trying to lull him into a calm, accepting mood. "You do?" Clark asked.
"Yes, Clark." John answered. "Your birth-name is Kal-El – you come from the planet Krypton, of which was destroyed nine years ago. As the remnants of the planet drifted toward Earth, you're the only living specimen that survived."
Clark looked bewildered. "What do you do, then? I thought you were a detective, or police of some sort."
John chuckled. "I work for a special branch of the police force, that looks into the unknown. We've seen several cases in the past – the Amazonians, for example. Kryptonians aren't much different."
"So, is it because I'm a kryptonian that I have powers?" Clark asked. "I'm sorry, I don't believe you too much."
"It's a lot to take in, yes." John responded. He nodded towards Jonathon, who proceeded to pull a metal pod, emblazed with the emblem of his only possession, out of a small storage closet. "This is the pod you came in. You might recognize the emblem – it's the main symbol of Kryptonopolis."
"That's the same symbol on my blanket!" Clark cried, then hid his blush. "I-I mean, the blanket I had at the orphanage."
"No, no." John shook his head. "That's your other possession of Krypton. A simple, hand-woven blanket.
"The idea we have of your powers stems from Kryptonian religion." John explained. "Several stone tablets and scrolls made their way to Earth. According to them, Krypton was governed by a red supergiant."
"That's a type of star, Clark." Jonathon spoke up. Clark nodded, trying to listen as close as he could.
"This red supergiant allowed their bodies to connect and flow their energy together, making technological advances that humanity hasn't even come close to. According to the scrolls and tablets when and if a kryptonian is exposed to the elements of a yellow sun, they will absorb the powers of it. Our sun is a yellow dwarf, much younger than that of Krypton's sun, therefore it must have a higher energy output to that of the red supergiant." John explained. "Essentially, your "powers" are a result of being exposed to a younger sun than what you're used to, developing as such."
"So, just let me repeat so I can see if I understand." Clark responded. He sat there for a moment in silence, trying to process all the new information. "I'm from a planet called Krypton, and my powers come from the different world that Earth is?"
"Yes, in a way." John responded, nodding. "The Kents found you as a baby when you crash landed on their farm. At the time they weren't prepared to raise a child and the destruction your pod caused costed them a significant portion of their money."
"So you left me at Parakeet Orphange?" Clark asked, turning to look up at Martha. Martha sighed, nodding.
"I tried to keep you, but my husband was having none of it. We spent five long years rebuilding, and another four dealing with the impacts of your arrival."
"I did promise Martha that once all was said and done, we'd have a child – and if you were still there, we'd legally adopt you." Jonathon responded, getting up. "But, we'll leave you to get acquainted. Me and John here have some business to attend to."
"Quite." John followed suit. "Goodbye, Clark Kent. Perhaps we may speak again, one day."
Clark waved, watching them go. "It's a lot to take in." He muttered.
"I know." Martha patted him on the back. "Come on, I'll give you a tour."
My sources are the Superboy comic series, which began publication in 1949.