Saiyan of Gotham

The Kansas summer had settled into a gentle rhythm, the days long and golden, the nights warm and filled with the hum of crickets. For the Wayne and Kent families, the vacation had become more than a respite from Gotham's shadows—it was a rare chance for peace, discovery, and the forging of bonds that would shape the future.

But not all discoveries brought comfort.

Clark Kent was six years old, a farm boy with a secret strength he barely understood. He had always known he was different—he could lift tractors, outrun the wind, and see farther than the tallest grain silo. But he had never questioned why, not really. He was a Kent, and that was enough.

Until the night he overheard his parents talking in hushed voices with Thomas Wayne.

He had crept down the stairs, drawn by the unfamiliar tension in their voices. He heard his name, heard words like "ship" and "not from here." He pressed his ear to the cool wood of the basement door and listened as his world quietly shifted beneath him.

Afterward, he had slipped away, heart pounding, eyes stinging with tears he didn't understand. He didn't sleep that night. He stared at the ceiling, listening to the distant sounds of the farm, feeling as if the ground itself had fallen away.

The next morning, he found Ojaga sitting on the porch, legs crossed, tail curled discreetly beneath him. The sun was just rising, painting the fields in soft gold.

Clark hesitated, then sat beside him. For a while, neither boy spoke. Birds sang in the hedgerows; the world felt impossibly big.

Finally, Clark whispered, "I heard them talking last night. About the ship. About me."

Ojaga looked at him, his golden eyes calm. "I know."

Clark's voice trembled. "They said I'm not from here. That I came in a ship. That I'm… different."

Ojaga shrugged, not unkindly. "So am I. I came in a ship, too."

Clark blinked, surprised. "You did?"

Ojaga nodded. "I always knew I wasn't from here. My parents told me when I was little. But it doesn't matter. I love them. They're my family."

Clark stared at his hands. "But… if I'm not really their son—"

Ojaga cut him off, voice gentle but firm. "You are. They raised you. They love you. That's what matters."

Clark was quiet for a long time. "I thought I was just… weird. I thought maybe I'd grow out of it. But now I know I'll never be like everyone else."

Ojaga smiled, a rare, genuine expression. "No one is like everyone else. Not really. You're Clark Kent. That's enough."

Clark looked at him, searching for any sign of judgment or pity. He found none. Only understanding.

"I'm scared," Clark admitted.

Ojaga nodded. "Me too. Sometimes. But we have each other. And our families."

The boys sat in silence, the sun climbing higher, the world waking around them. For the first time since hearing the truth, Clark felt a little less alone.

Later that day, the Wayne and Kent families gathered for breakfast. The adults talked of crops and business, of the coming school year and the work that still needed doing on the farm. Bruce chattered about a new chess strategy he'd been practicing, while Martha Wayne and Martha Kent compared recipes.

Ojaga and Clark sat side by side, eating in companionable silence. Bruce, sensing the shift in mood, nudged Clark. "You okay?"

Clark nodded. "Just thinking."

Bruce grinned. "Don't think too hard. That's my job."

The table burst into laughter, the tension easing.

After breakfast, the boys wandered out to the barn. Bruce practiced his breathing exercises, guided by Ojaga, while Clark watched, curiosity piqued.

"What are you doing?" Clark asked.

Ojaga explained, demonstrating the slow, steady breaths, the way he focused on the warmth inside his chest. Clark tried to mimic him, surprised by the sense of calm that followed.

"It's like… there's something inside me," Clark said, eyes wide.

Ojaga nodded. "That's your energy. Your ki. Everyone has it, but not everyone can feel it."

Bruce chimed in, "Ojaga says if you practice, you get stronger. Not just muscles—inside, too."

Clark practiced until his arms trembled, then collapsed in the straw, laughing. For a moment, the weight of secrets fell away, replaced by the simple joy of being a kid.

As the sun set, the boys sat on the porch, watching the fireflies blink in the gathering dark.

"Do you ever wish you were normal?" Clark asked softly.

Ojaga thought for a moment. "Sometimes. But then I remember—normal is just what everyone else wants you to be. I'd rather be me."

Clark smiled. "Yeah. Me too."

Inside, Thomas Wayne and Jonathan Kent sat at the kitchen table, quietly discussing the future. Thomas had promised to keep the ship safe, to study it only with the Kents' permission. He had also promised to protect their secret, no matter what.

Jonathan glanced out the window at the boys. "They're good kids. Stronger than they know."

Thomas nodded. "They'll need to be."

The night deepened, the stars wheeling overhead. In the quiet of Smallville, two boys—alien and human, Saiyan and Kryptonian—found comfort in each other's company, their secrets safe for now, their futures unwritten.

And in the heart of the farmhouse, the ship slept on, a silent reminder that even the most ordinary places can hide the most extraordinary beginnings.