Smallville, Kansas.
A brand-new four-seater minivan, painted in warm yellow, glead under the sunlight. The open-air compartnt in the back was packed with an assortnt of baby supplies.
Baby bottles, sippy cups, bowls, teething keys, thermoters, bathtubs, fever patches, mosquito repellent, nasal aspirators, shampoo, baby cream, talcum powder, outlet covers, safety locks, padded table edges, strollers, diapers, baby wipes, various formulas, toddler harnesses, cloth diapers, changing pads—more than enough to fill the space.
Raising a child was no easy task, but it was a necessity. The instinct to nurture was embedded in human nature, passed down through generations. Without it, humanity wouldn't exist.
The yellow minivan swayed along the uneven farm road, carrying a family wrapped in warmth.
---
The driver was a typical Arican man strong, though not particularly large. Years of farm work had built him into a sturdy figure, his tanned skin a testant to the labor he endured under the sun. His hands were rough, calloused from long days in the fields.
Jonathan Kent was in his forties, still in his pri, yet genetics had denied him and his wife the one thing they had always wanted.
A child.
That regret had lingered in their hearts.
Until one day, when an alien spacecraft crash-landed on their farm.
Jonathan had been utterly stunned.
Inside the wreckage, a baby lay babbling, tiny hands reaching out as if asking to be held.
His wife, Martha, had instinctively picked up the child. He was heavier than a normal baby, but her arms, hardened by years of farm work held him effortlessly. She had laughed, radiating a motherly warmth Jonathan had never seen before.
It reminded him of his own mother gentle, kind, overflowing with unconditional love.
At that mont, he knew.
This child was theirs.
From that day forward, this baby would be their son.
That very night, Jonathan had hidden the spacecraft.
It took imnse effort, dragging it to the basent, burying the crash site, flattening the cornfield, removing all traces. Days of work went into covering it up completely, ensuring no one would find a single clue.
Even now, he remained uneasy.
He and Martha had only one child. He refused to let anyone take him away.
Not the governnt. Not anyone.
Jonathan would protect his son.
Because that's what a father does.
Because that's what family ans.
But…
So things are beyond human control.
Like a terminal illness.
Like a tragedy that cannot be undone.
Like the fact that the child he was raising…
Was an alien.
A being beyond human comprehension.
One day, Jonathan Kent might find himself powerless to stop what was coming.
But that day had not yet arrived.
---
Jonathan frowned, gripping the steering wheel as he eyed the uneven road ahead through the windshield.
He had driven this path countless tis, yet now, with a baby in the car, every bump irritated him.
If Clark ever walked this road in the future and tripped…
If rain turned the dips into puddles, making it dangerous…
No. He wouldn't allow it.
This road needs fixing.
Tomorrow, he'd smooth it out.
---
In the back seat, Martha Kent cradled Clark, while beside her sat a white dog, faithfully guarding the baby.
His na was Krypto.
A na derived from Krypton itself.
So called him "Little Krypton," others simply "Krypto." Either worked.
Martha frowned as she bounced slightly in her seat, jolted by the rough road.
"Why is this road so uneven?"
They had driven this path countless tis, yet today, it felt worse than ever.
"I'll fix it tomorrow," Jonathan said firmly, his decision already made.
Martha glanced at him, then at the baby in her arms, nodding in agreent.
She carefully adjusted her hold on Clark, ensuring he was balanced and wouldn't wake abruptly.
To her surprise, Clark was already awake laughing.
She had feared he might cry from the sudden jolt, but instead, his bright blue eyes sparkled with joy.
Her heart softened instantly.
She smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to Clark's forehead, then began humming a familiar tune.
"Ho on the Range."
A song as old as Kansas itself.
Clark's big, curious eyes focused on her, entranced by her voice.
From the driver's seat, Jonathan heard them, and his irritation faded.
A small smile crept onto his lips.
The road was still rough, the ride still bumpy…
But within the warmth of that car, everything felt right.
This was ho.
---
Soon, they arrived at the farmhouse.
Jonathan parked the minivan, quickly unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping out to open the door for Martha.
She stepped out, shielding Clark's face from the sun with her hand.
"I'll take Clark inside, then co back to help with the bags," she said.
Jonathan placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, shaking his head with a relaxed grin.
"No need. I've got it. You take care of Clark."
Then, turning to the white dog, he smirked.
"Krypto, you're helping , right?"
---
Krypto's face froze.
He narrowed his eyes.
Am I being treated like a… dog?
I AM a dog.
But even a dog shouldn't be carrying diapers…
Jonathan casually slung a diaper bag across Krypto's back, rubbing his head with an amused chuckle.
"Take it to the living room, Krypto. And be careful, it's Clark's diapers. Take good care of his little butt."
Krypto's eyelid twitched.
But at the ntion of Clark's na, he sighed, accepting his fate.
His paws padded swiftly toward the house, carrying the diaper bag.
***
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