“That’s for the best,” George Stacy said, scribbling a phone number onto a piece of paper before handing it over along with his business card.
“Bring the child by tomorrow morning.
Doesn’t matter if you have documents or not—I’ll help you sort out the birth certificate and registration.
Think of it as making sure Gwen has a playmate in the future.
A girl shouldn’t grow up without someone looking out for her.
I can’t be by her side forever.”
Ben took the number and the card.
Truth be told, even without Stacy’s help, he had already planned to use his own connections to secure an identity for Clark.
Still, this made things much easier.
“Thanks… I really appreciate it,” Ben said sincerely.
After seeing Stacy off, he shut the door tightly and finally let out a long breath, his body sagging as he sat down on the floor, exhaustion written all over his face.
May walked over after settling Clark down.
“They’re gone?”
“They’re gone… but they’ve definitely got their eyes on us now,” Ben said seriously.
“No matter what, I’ll protect Clark.”
At that moment, Clark woke up.
Babies slept often—but woke just as often.
It was exhausting.
And right now, he was hungry.
The sunlight streaming in through the window nourished him, strengthening his body—but even so, he was still a baby.
And babies needed to eat.
So he started crying.
Loudly.
The two new parents outside exchanged a glance—and smiled.
Then, in a flurry of panic and clumsy movements, they rushed in to take care of him.
Time passed quickly.
In the blink of an eye, eight months went by.
August 10th.
At a New York medical center, the sharp cry of a newborn echoed through the hallway.
Outside, four people waited anxiously—then broke into smiles of pure relief and joy.
Mary Parker had finally given birth.
After ten long months, the Parker family welcomed their second son—
The boy who would one day be known as Peter Parker.
But for now, no one was thinking about names.
They were simply happy.
“Clark, your little brother is here!
Are you happy?” Richard Parker said with a grin, holding his nephew in his arms as he teased him.
“You’ll protect your brother from now on, right?”
By now, Clark’s development had already surpassed expectations.
With his rapidly evolving mind—and something more beneath the surface—he had already begun to understand and speak simple English.
“OK.”
He even raised three small fingers, as if making a solemn promise.
The adults burst into laughter.
To them, Clark was nothing short of a genius.
And today, the Parker family had even more reason to celebrate.
Soon, Mary and the baby were wheeled out.
Both mother and child were perfectly healthy—the delivery had gone smoothly.
Held in someone’s arms, Clark caught sight of the newborn—
The future Spider-Man.
He lifted his tiny hand and gave a friendly little wave.
A quiet greeting.
A beginning.
A few weeks later, in the Parker household…
Everything had changed.
Two brothers, just over a year apart, lay in separate cribs.
This arrangement wasn’t only May’s idea—it was agreed upon by the entire family.
They hoped the boys would grow close, just like their fathers had.
On an otherwise ordinary night, Clark lay awake, staring out at the moon.
A thought crossed his mind—
Would moonlight, reflecting the sun, also strengthen a Kryptonian body?
Then—
His super-hearing picked up something faint.
Extremely faint.
It was coming from his younger brother, Peter Parker.
Peter had turned over in his sleep… and the blanket had covered his nose and mouth, blocking his breathing.
The rhythm of his heart and lungs was already off.
This was a classic precursor to sudden infant death syndrome.
In a normal household, this might have become a silent tragedy.
But Clark couldn’t allow that.
Not in his family.
He wanted to shout—but he knew that would only make his parents think it was normal crying.
By the time they reacted, it might already be too late.
He thought about crawling over and pulling the blanket away—
But his one-year-old body couldn’t manage such a precise action.
And if he used too much strength, he might crush the crib entirely.
In less than a fraction of a second, he made his decision.
He began to cry.
At first, softly.
Then louder.
Then louder still—like a signal, a call for help.
Until finally, he shouted—
“Help!”
The sound instantly reached Ben and May’s bedroom.
They both shot upright.
“Clark!” May rushed toward the nursery, with Ben right behind her.
The moment they entered, they saw Peter’s face—already turning purple.
They quickly adjusted him, clearing his airway.
Only after confirming Clark was safe as well did they finally relax.
“You’re a hero, Clark,” May said, lifting him into her arms and kissing him warmly.
To her, Clark had simply been frightened by Peter’s condition.
“You saved your brother, didn’t you?
You’re such a good big brother.”
Clark smiled faintly and rested his head against her shoulder.
Inside, he felt a quiet sense of satisfaction.
Outside, on the street—
A black Chevrolet sat parked in the shadows.
Inside, a drowsy agent monitored surveillance logs, scribbling lazily:
“Target A (Clark Parker) emitted abnormal crying at 02:14 AM, lasting 37 seconds.
Shortly after, Target B (Peter Parker) began crying.
Assessment: normal infant interaction.
No anomalies detected.”
Just a few days later, Clark—barely over a year old—began learning how to walk.
Of course, with the mind of a teenager and a rapidly developing body, walking was no challenge at all.
In fact, physically, he was already comparable to a ten-year-old.
“…This might be a problem,” Clark thought as he stood steadily on his feet.
I should be wobbling like a baby…
No sober adult walks like this, let alone a toddler.
This is way too stable…
No.
This wouldn’t do.
A normal baby had to stumble.
Fall.
Cry.
Then try again.
He couldn’t skip that process.
So, over the following weeks, Clark began to “practice” falling.
He would deliberately twist his ankle slightly, then collapse slowly onto the carpet in an exaggerated, baby-like fashion.
All of it—
Acting.
Unfortunately for him, Ben saw everything.
The former soldier quickly noticed something was off.
Every time Clark “fell,” his body remained tense and controlled.
He instinctively used his hands to brace himself—and never truly cried.
At most, he would pout, as if saying, “Look, I’m trying.”
This child…
Was far too “well-behaved.”
Meanwhile, at the street corner, inside that same black Chevrolet—
The S.H.I.E.L.D.
agent on surveillance yawned and scribbled another note:
“Target A (Clark) has begun walking.
Coordination slightly below average for age.
Target B (Peter) developing normally.
Conclusion: The Parker household is the most boring family in Queens.
Requesting reassignment.”