Jonathan Kent sat at the worn oak kitchen table, heavily rubbing his temples as he stared at the farm's accounting ledgers. The overhead lamp cast long shadows across stacks of grocery receipts and calculator tape. No matter how many times he ran the numbers, the maths simply wasn't balancing.
"We're facing a severe deficit, Martha," Jonathan sighed, tapping his pencil against the paper. "I've factored in the autumn harvest, but the grocery bills from the last three months are staggering. It's like we're trying to feed a whole football team, not just one toddler."
At the stove, Martha was flipping her fourth dozen pancakes. The kitchen was thick with the smell of butter and syrup. Sitting in a reinforced steel highchair – courtesy of a quiet night delivery a year ago – was little Brody Kent.
At eighteen months old, Brody was a whirlwind of spiky black hair, bottomless energy and an appetite that defied the laws of physics. His Saiyan metabolism was a raging furnace; he consumed his weight in food almost daily just to fuel the passive, dormant ki radiating from his small body.
Before Jonathan could flip to the next page of his ledger, the heavy crunch of tyres on the gravel driveway broke the morning quiet.
Jonathan stood instinctively defensive, but relaxed slightly when he saw the black unmarked SUV. Nick Fury stepped out, flanked by two agents carrying heavy silver crates. Fury didn't bother knocking, letting himself into the kitchen with a briefcase in hand.
"I see the financial realities of raising an apex predator are catching up to you, Jonathan," Fury said smoothly, his single eye scanning the stacks of receipts.
"He's a growing boy," Jonathan replied defensively, crossing his arms. "But I won't lie. The farm's accounts can't sustain this level of consumption much longer without drawing suspicion."
"Which is exactly why I'm here," Fury said, signalling his agents to set the crates down. "You can't buy this much food."
Locally, without anyone asking questions, SHIELD's science division analysed the trace DNA from the pod. They'd synthesised a hyper-caloric, nutrient-dense formula. One of these rations contained enough localised energy to sustain him for three days. It would balance your books and keep the boy's cellular structure stable.
Martha cautiously looked at the metallic crates. "Is it safe?"
"It's perfectly safe, Mrs. Kent. Consider it an investment in Earth's future, Fury said, already turning to leave. Keep him fed. Because when that power level spikes, a hungry toddler is the last thing anyone wants."
As Fury departed, lifting the immediate financial burden, a loud crash echoed from the living room. Jonathan and Martha rushed in to find teenage Clark breathing heavily with his boots dug into the hardwood floor. Brody had escaped his highchair and was currently giggling hysterically, holding a heavy oak bookshelf entirely off the ground with one tiny chubby hand.
"Brody, no! Put it down," Clark commanded, rushing forward.
Brody babbled playfully and swung the heavy piece of furniture like a toy. Clark caught the edge of the wood, fully expecting to easily pry it from the toddler's grip. After all, Clark could bend steel bars and stop speeding trucks. He was practically a god among men.
But when Clark pulled, the shelf didn't move.
Clark's eyes widened in sheer shock. He planted his feet and pulled harder, his young Kryptonian muscles tensing. Brody just giggled louder, thinking it was a game of tug-of-war and pulled back.
The physical backlash was instantaneous. The floorboards beneath Clark's boots cracked and splintered under the sheer, equalised pressure. Clark gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead. The suffocating aura—15,000 power level—flared up around the toddler, a heavy invisible weight pressing against Clark's chest.
"He's just a baby," Clark thought, his mind racing as he strained against the immense kinetic force. "How is he this strong?"
For the first time in his life, Clark Kent had met his physical match. It wasn't a supervillain or a monster; it was his giggling little brother. With a final desperate exertion of solar energy, Clark managed to wrench the bookshelf free and safely lower it to the ground. He collapsed onto his knees, panting, staring at his trembling hands. Raising the Millennium Child wasn't just a test of their finances; it was going to test every limit Clark ever thought he had.
As the months turned into a crisp Kansas autumn, the Kents quickly learned that raising a Saiyan involved surviving the daily heart-stopping chaos while maintaining the illusion of a perfectly normal Midwestern family.
Brody, now two years old, had officially claimed the farm as his territory and hadn't done it alone. Bruno, the loyal Golden Retriever, had eventually overcome his initial fear of the boy's massive dormant energy. Over the years, Jonathan had taken in three other farm dogs as well. To the four dogs, Brody wasn't an alien prince or a cosmic deterrent; he was the undisputed two-foot-tall alpha of their pack.
Clark sat on the porch steps, chuckling as he watched Brody play tag with the dogs. The toddler was a blur of motion, his tiny legs propelling him across the grass at speeds that would win an Olympic sprint. When the dogs cornered him near the old oak tree, Brody's furry brown tail instinctively wrapped around a low-hanging branch, hoisting him into the air with a gleeful shriek.
"Careful, Brody!" Clark called out. Brody simply dropped from the branch, landing perfectly on his feet, and was immediately tackled by Bruno and the other three dogs. "Hey, Clark!"
Clark's head snapped up. Pedalling up the long gravel driveway, her auburn hair catching the golden afternoon sun, was Lana Lang. Panic spiked instantly in Clark's chest. Brody was currently rolling in the grass, his monkey-like tail swishing wildly in the air for anyone to see. In a blur of motion.
Faster than the human eye could track, Clark sprinted across the yard, scooped up Brody into his arms and deftly tucked the brown furry appendage down the back of the toddler's denim overalls just as Lana brought her bicycle to a halt.
"Hey Lana," Clark said, his voice slightly cracking. He shifted his weight, suddenly hyper-aware of where his hands were placed.
"I was just riding by and thought I'd see if you'd like to work on the history project," Lana said, flashing a smile that made Clark's stomach do nervous backflips. Her eyes drifted down to the squirming toddler.
"Oh wow. Word around town was your parents took in a relative but I didn't know he was this little. Who is this?"
"This is Brody," Clark said, a shy smile breaking through his panic. "My parents adopted him. He's my little brother."
Lana stepped closer. "Hi Brody. Aren't you just the cutest?"
Clark tensed, his Kryptonian muscles locking up. He knew what happened when people offered Brody a finger to hold. As Brody reached out his chubby hand to grab Lana's index finger, Clark subtly positioned his own hand underneath, ready to intercept the force.
But Brody didn't squeeze. Instead, the toddler just held her finger delicately, letting out a soft happy coo. Clark let out a breath he didn't realise he was holding.
"He's precious," Lana whispered, looking up at Clark. They were standing close now the autumn breeze rustling the cornstalks around them. There was a quiet lingering tension between them – an unspoken affection that had been brewing for months.
"He's got a wild head of hair but… I don't know Clark. I can already see him looking up to you," Lana said.
"Yeah?" Clark asked, his cheeks warming.
"Yeah Lana smiled softly. She lingered for a moment longer her gaze locked with his before finally stepping back to her bike.
"Well I'll let you get back to babysitting. Call me later about the history project?"
"Definitely," Clark said, waving as she pedalled away. He stood there for a long moment, a dopey completely normal Clark.
A teenage grin spread across his face. "For a kid who can hear a pin drop in Metropolis, your situational awareness is rubbish when Lana's around."
Clark spun around. Emerging from the barn's shadows, Nick Fury stepped out wearing a casual leather jacket instead of his usual tactical trench coat. He'd parked his black SUV behind the silo, completely undetected.
Clark flushed red and set Brody down on the grass. "Mr. Fury. I didn't hear you pull up."
"That's the point, kid," Fury smirked. He looked down the road where Lana had disappeared. "You're practically invincible, Kent. But teenage romance? That'll still give you a heart attack."
Clark rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I just… I have to hide so much from her and everyone. It feels like I'm lying every time I smile at her."
Fury's single eye softened. Over the past two years, his regular visits to drop off rations and check on the farm had gradually changed his dynamic with the Kents.
"Listen to me, Clark. You spend every second of your day physically holding back your strength so you don't break the world. But you can't hold back your heart either. If you lock all your emotions away just to be safe, you won't be a protector. You'll just be a statue. Care about the girl. It makes you human where it counts."
Before Clark could process the surprisingly profound advice, a high-pitched squeal echoed across the yard.
"Unca Fuwy!"
Brody had spotted the man in the leather jacket. The toddler bolted across the grass, his little boots tearing up chunks of sod, and launched himself into the air like a cannonball.
Fury braced himself, widening his stance. He caught the toddler mid-air. Even at two years old, Brody felt like he was made of solid lead, sliding Fury back half an inch in the dirt. But Fury didn't flinch. Instead, a genuine, warm smile broke across his usually hardened face.
"How's my favourite little wrecking ball?" Fury asked, hoisting the boy onto his shoulders. Brody giggled and grabbed a fistful of Fury's jacket.
If the World Security Council could see him now, they'd revoke his clearance. Initially, Fury had viewed the Saiyan baby purely as a strategic asset against cosmic horrors. However, somewhere between bringing him specialised toys and watching him learn to walk, the legendary spymaster's armour had cracked. Brody wasn't just a weapon anymore; he was family. And secretly, Nick Fury absolutely loved being called "Uncle."
Inside the house, the delicate balance of farm life was about to be tested again. Jonathan's pride and joy was a massive custom-built aquarium in the corner of the den. Gliding gracefully through the pristine water was a magnificent shimmering 24-karat golden Arowana fish.
Brody, having wriggled down from Fury's shoulders, wandered into the den and pressed his face right up to the glass, utterly fascinated. Clark and Fury walked in just as Brody raised a dirt-streaked hand to tap the glass.
"Brody, gently," Clark warned.
Tap. A sharp crack echoed through the den. A spiderweb fracture bloomed across the thick acrylic and a thin stream of water sprayed onto the hardwood floor. Brody's eyes widened and his tail drooped sadly inside his overalls.
"I've got the glass!" Clark yelled, pressing his palms flat against the cracking acrylic to hold the immense water pressure back.
"Dad! Sealant!" Jonathan rushed in from the kitchen.
Without missing a beat, Fury grabbed the tube of waterproof epoxy from the side table and tossed it perfectly into Jonathan's waiting hand. Working in tandem, Clark held the pressure back while Jonathan rapidly applied the sealant.
Within minutes, the crisis was averted. The majestic golden Arowana swam lazily past the repaired glass, completely unbothered. Jonathan let out a long breath, wiping his brow, then looked down at Brody, who was sitting cross-legged, looking incredibly guilty.
"Hey," Fury said gently, kneeling down next to the boy. He tapped Brody's nose. "Even Uncle Fury breaks things sometimes. You
Just have to learn how to control the hammer, kid.
Later that evening after Fury had said his goodbyes and driven off into the dusky night, the farm settled into a deep quiet. Clark sat on the porch swing the rhythmic creaking of the chains cutting through the sound of crickets. Brody was fast asleep his head resting squarely on Clark's chest. Bruno and the dogs were curled up in a furry pile at their feet.
Martha pushed the screen door open and handed Clark a mug of hot cocoa. She sat beside him gently resting her hand on Brody's back.
"He wore himself out today," Martha whispered.
"He wore me out too," Clark admitted. He thought about Lana's smile Fury's advice the terrifying strength in Brody's hands and the vast starry sky above them. The universe was full of monsters but looking down at the sleeping toddler surrounded by loyal dogs an uncle who watched from the shadows and the quiet safety of their home Clark wasn't afraid.
"We'll be okay Mom," Clark whispered pulling the blanket over Brody's shoulders. "Whatever comes we'll be ready for it together."