Smallville, Kansas, 1999

Clark Kent walked out of the doors to Smallville High. He'd just finished his first week, and the fourteen year old was already bored of it. He heard someone walking up behind him, turning around to see a boy his age who stood about a head shorter than the admittedly lanky Clark, with dirty blonde hair and wireframe glasses.

"You decided not to go try out for the team then?" The boy asked, smirking "Clark, come on, you completely dominated when you played in middle school. Why wouldn't you want to keep up that streak now?"

"My Dad asked me not to." Clark said with a sigh "You know how he gets, Pete. He's just looking out for me."

"How?" Pete asked indignantly "By keeping you from the glory, the parties and the girls? I don't call that looking out for you, Clark. I call it trying to make you a monk."

Clark half laughed. Pete didn't know about Clark, about what he could do. He was fast, and strong. His mother and father never really spoke about how or why he could lift a pickup truck as easily as most kids his age lifted a Playstation, or outrun the train to Metropolis. His mother just told him it was part of who he was, and re-assured him that they loved him, not because of what he could do, not because of how easily he could get all the chores on the farm done within an hour of getting home from school, but in spite of that.

His father, on the other hand, was more than a little cautious. It had taken Clark nearly all of his middle school career to convince his Dad to let him try out for the football team. Part of him considered trying out for the team at Smallville High in spite of what his father had told him about keeping his head down.

Unfortunately, Clark Kent had always been a bit of a boy scout. He'd never actually even told a lie, not knowingly anyway. He'd omitted information before, sure, but then, most people would probably omit the fact that the red and blue blur that had been reported at the Smallville Savings and loan the day it had been broken into had been them, instead opting to say they'd been around the area that day but didn't know exactly what time.

"I've got to get home." Clark finally said "I promised Dad I'd help him put the new fence up in the back field. I'll see you later, Pete."

"Okay, be that way." Pete said, nodding to the blue Ford Escort by the entrance "Dad got me my car for my Birthday. You need a ride?"

"No thanks." Clark said, smirking knowingly to himself "I fancy a bit of a run."

"It's your funeral." Pete said with a small laugh "But hey, if you want to run five miles after school, who am I to stop you!"

"Exactly. Happy Birthday." Clark said, clapping Pete on the shoulder before turning and walking away, tossing back "See you later, Pete."

Clark began running at what could be considered normal speed for a kid his age, holding a hand up in recognition as Pete drove by, honking the horn as he did. Clark waited for Pete to be out of sight, checking around him before speeding up into a blur of red and blue.

...

Martha Kent stood in the kitchen in her and her Husband, Jonathan's house. She'd just finished baking some double chocolate chip muffins, just the way their son, Clark, liked them. Jonathan tended to berate her for spoiling the fourteen year old, but she'd had left over cake batter from the cake she'd made for Clark's best friend Pete's fifteenth birthday, so had decided to give Clark a treat.

As she set the scorching metal tray with the capes on it down on the counter, removing the oven mits she wore, there was a rush of air as Clark slowed to a halt in the kitchen, making a B line for the muffins.

"Clark, they've just come out" she began, Clark picking up one of the muffins and quickly dropping it, putting the finger and thumb that had made contact with the hot cake into his mouth "the oven. Are you okay, sweetie?"

"Yeah, it just stings a little." Clark said, shaking his hand in the air "Where's Dad?"

"In the barn, working on that old car of his." Martha said, shaking her head "Show me your hand."

"It's fine, Mom." Clark said with a small laugh "Barely felt it."

"Clark Kent, I am your mother and you will do as you are told!" She said sternly "Hand. Now!"

"Fine." Clark said, showing his mother his hand "See? Not even a mark."

"Well, go run it under the tap anyway, just in case." She replied "I know, you've always been a bit more durable than other kids, but I'm still going to worry when you get hurt."

It was true; Clark remembered when he was ten and he'd fallen from the upper level of the barn straight down onto the concrete floor. He'd had a couple of bruises and a few scrapes but, shockingly, not a single broken bone. The paediatrician who'd seen him had said it was a miracle. As he'd got older, he'd got more durable; the previous week, he'd had the tractor his Dad had been working on fall off of the car lift and straight down onto him. He'd only had a few bruises afterwards, which was more than could be said for the tractor.

"I'll be fine." Clark said, kissing his mother on the forehead before walking out of the door and out towards the barn.

As he reached the barn and walked inside, he saw his father lying on one of his old skateboards, under an old orange mustang, held eight feet in the air by a pneumatic car lift on each rear wheel arch, and the front bumper. Jonathan poked his head out, his usually greying brown hair having flecks of black in it from working under the car.

"Can you pass me that wrench Clark?" He said, pointing over to a large wrench in the corner "The front axel is a little loose."

"Sure." Clark said, moving over to the indicated tool and picking it up "Hey, you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Jonathan asked, before the front car lift groaned, beginning to collapse.

Clark sped to the front of the car as all three lifts gave out. The back end hit the ground hard, whilst the front end, currently directly over Jonathan, was held by Clark over his head. His dad scrambled out, observing the sight in front of him as Clark gently set the car down.

"That looked like it should've been a cover on one of your old comic books." Jonathan said with a small chuckle, turning around and gasping "Oh boy."

"Oh boy what?" Clark asked, turning and seeing Pete stood in the door way, looking shocked "Pete?"

"Clark?" Pete said, his tone matching his expression "How did you catch that car?"

...

Clark sat in the living room of his house. Pete was sat across from him, a soder cola in his hand. Martha had taken Jonathan up to the hospital to make sure he hadn't been injured by the car. Pete had seen it all. Apparently, he'd just pulled up at the farm to pick up his cake and had seen Clark walk into the Barn, so he'd followed to say hi. Instead, he was greeted by Clark super speeding to the front of his father's car and catching it like a basketball.

"Pete, listen, I wanted to tell you, but-" Clark began.

"Then why didn't you?" Pete cut him off "Don't get me wrong, I get it. You were worried I'd think different of you. Hell, I'm terrified right now. What else can you do? Breath fire? Shoot ice from your eyes?"

"Not as far as I know." Clark replied with a sigh "Now you get why my Dad doesn't want me trying out for the team. I've always been stronger than everyone else, but then, this summer just gone, the speed showed up. You combo that with the fact that I've got skin about as hard as a rock, if I went out on that field, if I lost control for a second, someone could get hurt, or killed."

"But if you didn't, you could dominate." Pete said, smirking "I know, I get it, it's a valid excuse. Just tell me one thing?"

"Anything." Clark said, glad to finally be able to talk to his friend about things "What do you want to know?"

"How'd you end up like this?" Pete asked "How did Clark Kent become a man of steel?"

Clark froze. He didn't know the answer. It had just happened as he'd got older. Of course, he'd heard of some strange things over the years. The boy a couple of years older than Clark who'd claimed when his Mother was killed a few years ago and his Father arrested for it that a yellow and red lightning storm in his living room had done it, or the man with wings who had shown up in the Egyptian desert to rescue the archaeologist who'd been stranded out there after a sand storm.

None of them matched him though. He'd never seen any killer lightning storms, nor could he fly. Even if he could, he was terrified of heights; he could never imagine himself choosing to fly anywhere.

"Earth to Clark?" Pete's comment snapped Clark out of his musings "Been off on some other planet?"

"That'd be ridiculous." Clark said "I was just thinking. I don't have a clue how to answer your question."

"I figured you wouldn't." Pete said "Hey, didn't your Dad always tell you to stay away from the storm shelter in the back field?"

"Yeah." Clark said "Something about how it used to be a fallout shelter and it wasn't safe. Why?"

"Well, maybe any hunches your Dad has are in there." Pete said with a grin "Come on, Clark. Let's go live a little."

...

Clark and Pete reached the storm shelter. It was an old, concrete building, about five metres by five metres. Of course, it extended underground, and ran pretty much the entire back hundred feet of the field. Clark hated to admit it, but Pete was right; if his Dad were hiding any theories, he'd be able to do it there. But why would he?

They approached the doors, Clark reaching for the handle. It was locked. He looked at Pete, who simply smiled and nodded to the lock. Clark sighed, before Jerking the handle hard, hearing the lock break. He pulled the door open, finding some resistance from the rusted door.

They walked into the shelter, Clark flicking the switch on the wall as they did. The lights flickered on, revealing a dusty shelter. It was clear no one had been in there for a long time. A very long time, at least a decade. There was dust and cobwebs everywhere.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Clark collapsed, hitting his head against something hard and feeling a sharp pain. He touched his fingers to his forehead, his hands shaking as he looked at his hand.

Blood. His blood. He hadn't seen it in years. He struggled to pick himself up, putting his hand on the object he'd hit his head on. Pete, meanwhile was totally gobsmacked at the object.

It was silver, and mostly spherical, with a point on the front. On the front section was a red pentagon with a stylised S inside it, yellow breaking up the outline of the letter. Clark however, was more concerned with the pain he was feeling as his hand moved along the object, touching a glowing green rock wedged into the object.

He screamed in pain, feeling a burning sensation on his hand where it touched the rock. Pete finally snapped out of his trance, running over to Clark. He grabbed his friend, trying to move him. As he did, Clark fell back to the floor, beginning to convulse violently.

"Oh god, Clark!" Pete yelled "Oh man, oh man, oh man!"
"Oh man is right!" Came a voice from the top of the stairs, Pete turning to see Jonathan Kent stood at the top of the stairs "Help me get him out of here. Then me, you and him are going to have words."

...

So, here we have it. I chose this point to start adolescent Clark's life because it is a big life event for him. Plus, I felt one of my biggest crimes previously was the under utilisation of some of the characters from Clark's youth i.e. the Kents, Pete and Lana. So, I wanted to start remedying that in the redux. R&R, please, no flames. B.