-Some Kent-Wayne stuff for you :))-

Ages:

Dick - 11

Jason - 14

Tim - 17

Damian - 19

Jon - 19

The Monster - 3 days 

With Damian driving the younger boys home from school, so Alfred had the afternoon off. After ensuring that Dick's room was tidy and that there were no unclean dishes in the Batcave, he returned to the kitchen to pour the freshly brewed pot of tea.

But the freshly brewed pot of tea was not as it was left. Alfred never even spilt a drop in the saucer, but the pot seemed to have been upended on the counter, Harney and Sons' black tea leaves spilt all over the counter and down to the floor. 

Disturbed, Alfred ran a role-call; Bruce was out of town for two more days, Damian was driving the other boys to school, Barbara and Stephanie would also be on their way to school... Who could have had the audacity to ruin a perfectly fine pot of tea and vanish? Well, this was America; the culprit could be practically anyone who didn't know to fear their lives.

Most likely, it was one of Damian's various pets. Now he had to do a headcount of the animals and find the one soaked in black tea...

Just as Alfred had left to sound the dog whistle, there was a sound from the kitchen; the faucet turning on. Not even Damian could teach an animal to grow opposable thumbs. Turning on his heel, he slipped back into the room. the faucet was on, but this time Alfred noticed that the window was open. Sighing, the man fetched his rifle; Wayne manor had a routine cycle of attempted break-ins, and Alfred was widely responsible for managing them.

Locking the window, Alfred exited the old servent's door and rounded the corner to the bushes under the kitchen window. Immediately it was evident that the bushes were disturbed, they were torn and crushed, juxtaposed by the beautifully trimmed gardens. Alfred cocked his rifle.

"Alright. Stand and Surrender." The branches rustled, but there was no reply. "So be it." He approached cautiously, not willing to shoot without cause (Although ruining a fresh pot of tea ought to qualify). Alfred moved the branches aside, gun ready.
He hesitated at the face staring back at him: That of Mr Kent--no, it was far too young, it was Master Jonathan, covered in filth.

There was one oddity though, this boy lacked what Jonathan always had; an eager, sheepish smile. He didn't shy away, smiling guiltily, or greet Alfred, or make any expression. He just stared up, blank-faced.

Alfred took him inside, sitting the child in the kitchen; The boy must be confused or injured. He didn't take the chair offered, sitting instead on the floor. He wore a suit that may have been white at some point but was so shredded and filthy it was impossible to tell. The boy too was filthy; his skin and hair smeared and caked with dirt, dried blood, grass stains, and what might be soot or charcoal. He also crossed his arms defensively, telling Alfred that he must be injured.

"What has brought you here, Master Jonathan." The boy didn't reply, glaring. "Master Damian will return in an hour or so. You may eat and clean up while you wait." The boy still didn't reply. Alfred fetched him a cup of water and a small plate of cookies-- biscuits, both of which the boy just stared at, refusing to touch.

Impatient to fix the boy, Alfred dampened a cloth and reached towards him. He flinched and pulled away, but Alfred had raised five boys, so he held the child's chin in place and started wiping his face clean. As soon as the dampness toughed him, he recoiled with a jerk and threw his hands up, shoving desperately. Still, Alfred managed to clean his face and had just started on the boy's hands and arms when he noticed that this wasn't the Jonathan Kent he knew.

For instance: this boy was significantly smaller, and looked far younger than Jonathan, not even a teenager yet.  Though he was muscular and kryptonian enough that he didn't look like your average stray child in Gotham. Perhaps Jonathan had ben deaged, his mind wiped. Lord knows it wouldn't be the first time. But the boy's thicker jaw, straighter nose, and thicker brow contradicted this idea.
Alfred knew that either way, the boy needed to be kept in one place until the justice league could examine him, though a part of the man wanted to take this poor stray child to safety before he could be swept into crime fighting.

"Are you not hungry?"

"Not?" The child asked in a weak voice, as though he hadn't used it in weeks. "You?"

There was no way on god's green earth that was a good sign. Alfred took a Cookie-- biscuit (raising four boys in north America never ceased to torture him), and broke a piece off, holding it out to the boy. When he did not react, Alfred split off a second piece and demonstrated the basic steps. The boy took the biscuit and placed it in his mouth. He stopped there and simply stared back, curiously.

"I'm going to contact your father as soon as you've proved you can be trusted without my rifle on-hand." Alfred warned though he would never shoot the boy. Admittedly, he was just as protective of feral children as Bruce was, likely more.

"Father?" The boy croaked, mouth full. "Rifle. Going? Going contact your rifle..." He rambled, unable to realize that chewing and swallowing were integral parts of eating. "...Trusted father your rifle contact father your without trusted going hand rifleon I'mgoing father..."

Clearly, the boy was more of a threat to his table manners than anyone else. Alfred shifted to the land line in the kitchen, eyes locked on him. Mr Kent did not pick up, leaving Jonathan's mother as the most reliable contact, though she didn't respond either. Impatient, Alfred considered dialling again when a sudden idea dawned. Unsure of the implications, He dialled Jonathan Kent's phone, eyes locked on the filthy, rambling, stray who sat on the tile before him.

The dial tone cut off. "Uh, hello?"

"Master Kent?"

"Uhh, Alfred? What's up?"

"Im. I m? I. Am?" The boy went silent. "AM. I AM. I. I am. I am. I am." He stared up at Alfred. "I am?"

"Uh? Alfred? Everything okay?" Jonathan asked. "Are the boys alright? Damian? Should I come over?"

"I AM! I'm! I amamamamam..."

"It would be ideal if you could bring either of your parents..." Alfred said, rifle under one arm, watching the child/creature on the floor inspect the plate of biscuits closer, experimenting with putting them in his mouth, then trying to make them disappear like Alfred had done.

"I am." He decided, removing a biscuit quizically. "Superman." 

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His father touched down even before He did, despite the fact Jon had less distance to fly. They were in their own superman/superboy garb, Alfred said it was a superman issue.

Bruce wasn't in town, but Jon was sure that if he knew, he was already on the way back.

Alfred said to let themselves in so he could keep an eye on the issue, which was concerning because Alfred didn't just do that.
Jon followed his father into the manor, padding cautiously through to the kitchen. He tried to get ahead, but Clark stopped him, insisting that his son stayed behind him.  Alfred was in the kitchen, rifle under one arm. That wasn't good.

"Alfred. What's wrong?" Clark ordered,  unable to hide his worry. "Lois is on her way. What--"

Jon bumped into him as he stopped in his tracks. He leaned around his father to see what had stopped him.

Sat on the floor on the manor's kitchen, was a boy. He looked around Jason or Dick's age, dressed in a shredded white uniform, stained with... everything, and embedded in the chest with a Crest of House El. 
But his face... it was a mirror of Jon's father. maybe a little baby fat, and different hair, but otherwise; it was Clark.

Jon looked back and forth in awe. There was no way. Another Kryptonian? Maybe a relative like cousin Kara? 

Jon glanced up at his father again, only to notice that his jaw was clenched, his stare hard.

"What is that."

"I found the boy in  the gardens." Alfred remarked, setting his gun on the counter. "I assumed it was one of yours? If not, this household requires far better communication."

"Have you told the league?"

"I thought it was best to alert you first, lest this be another lost child of Krypton."

Jon just stared and stared at the kid sitting on the floor, staring up at the adults with huge wide eyes. He was sat in a small pile of crumbled cookies, as if he'd destroyed almost all of the treats on the plate before him, leaving only about two on the dish.
It was unsettling how much he looked like Clark. Like his clone. 

"Hey, buddy. where did you come from?" Jon asked, bending over.
Nothing.
"Kiddo. can you speak?"

"Jon." his father gripped his shoulder. "We don't know where it's from yet. This could be a trap--"

"SUPERMAN!" The boy erupted, arms flying up into the air. The room was silent, all three sets of eyes locked on him. "Super- I'm Superman!" He proclaimed, hand clutching the emblem on his chest.

"Uh, I don't think so bud..." 

"Jon." Clark ordered, yanking him closer for safety.

"He's confused, just talk. He clearly likes you." He said to his father, turning back to the boy, still whispering the word 'super' under his breath. "Hey, kiddo. You like superman right? Will you tell superman where you came from?"

"Fromamamamam camem kiddo willyou SupermanSuperman. Right diddo kiddo, where dididididdo superright superman..." The boy rambled, tugging his grimy hair in fistfuls.

Clark held his son tight, muscles tensed. "is Bruce on his way?"

"Yes, he is." Alfred confirmed. "Would you rather wait and watch the boy, or..."

"I'll go get Bruce." Clark said, cutting off Alfred. You just don't do that.

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"Honestly, it was easy to extract your DNA, and from there... well, I have some of the best scientific minds in the world on my payroll... it wasn't too hard. We filled the gaps on the sugar-phosphate backbone, charged the reproducing cells, and in a little over two days, We started feeding it information... the scientific team continued educating it through mental manipulation, and everything was going fine for about thirteen weeks.

...Then, the creature was taken out for a quick check-up on its development; it was handsome, of course, but disturbing to look at; its eyes had no light. It was a monster, could never fool anyone. But before he could be decommissioned... He escaped. Since the project was a failure, the lab was cleansed, and the plans retired." Luthor smirked. "So, did you find it?"

"You're a sick man." Superman, Clark, growled, jaw clenched. "You've even sacrificed your perceived innocence just to gloat to us?"

"Perceived innocence? No, I am innocent. Caped Crusader, are there any federal laws against scientific development? How about funding scientific development that you had no personal input in?" His smile spread at the furious energy radiating off the bat. "So where is it now?" Luther asked. 

"We won't tell you." Batman growled.

Lex stared back unimpressed. "You better not have killed it, that's over two billion dollars of company property."

"That you abandoned." Superman growled. 

"We were going to decommission and repurpose its parts." Luther said. "No amount of disappointment could risk the investors."

"It's a living creature."

"It's a creature with a heartbeat that belongs to the shareholders." Lex said, pouring himself a drinks. "Please do yourselves the dignity of returning it before we get our lawyers involved."

"Take that up with the justice league's work email."  Batman sunk into the shadows. "Superman; CADMUS labs."

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"It doesn't like that."

"I'm comforting him." Jon justified.

"You're stressing it out." Damian snapped.

Jon reluctantly let go of the boy, who squirmed away, growling slightly like a threatened dog. 

The older kryptonian sighed. "Well, Dad doesn't want to talk to him, He's terrified of mom, he needs one of us!"

"Let it come to you, it will adjust to your pack's scent and stop running away."

"He's not a dog, Damian! He's a kent."

"...according to neither of your parents..." Damian muttered, watching the clone pour water into its mouth until it overflowed all over its front, unaware of how to drink. "Can you see what's wrong with its eyes?"

"There is nothing wrong! He's just built differently." Jon said defensively. Maybe this kid had something slightly off about him proportionally, his eyes were clearly a bit off (Permanently dilated to the size of quarters). 

"You aren't disturbed that it's your father's imposter?" Damian asked, suspiciously.

"No! Look at him!" Jon insisted. "There's no evidence that he's hurt anyone!"

"...not yet..."

"No way he did!" Dick protested, helping Tim while the unnatural boy continued to trying to teach himself to drink. Alfred was too busy reckoning with Lois. "Look at him! The worst he's done is spill Alfred's tea while looking for food, right?"

"Super-am." He explained. "Super-yours." He pointed at Jon.

"AWW! Yes! I'm Super too!" He grinned, reaching out to hold the boy again, he wriggled unsurely.

"Super-Am." He pointed to himself. "Super-yours." He pointed at Jon. "superman?" He asked. 

"YEAH! YEAH! He'll be back later!" Jon turned to his friend. "See?" 

"fine, but don't be surprised if it tries to kill everyone you love, Clareval..." Damian muttered. "I can only hope you'll fix him. Bad people make made people unless someone steps in..."

"Ha! You called him a person!" Tim grinned, taking a tissue sample from their new child specimen. 

"Yeah, he can't be a bad person." Jon explained. "He's mine now."

"No way! He came to OUR house!" Dick teased. "He's ours!"

Jon rolled his eyes. "Dick, I just want one sibling, come one!"

Dick giggled, arms wrapped around the other Clone's head. "No! You're staying with us, right, super-littler-boy?"

Tim pulled his kid brother off the creature, sending him to go sit with the ever-suspicious Jason.

"He's going to kill all of us." Jason said. claiming Dick defensively, and reaching into his backpack. "I was right, wasn't I? B's going after Luthor."

"I do not know. Put down that knife!" Damian scolded. It had been an emotionally draining day. "Don't let Richard play with it anymore either. Wild dogs are one thing, but at least they're consistent. We know nothing about this! It might not even be intelligent life! It's just regurgitating sounds it's heard."

"That's mean." Dick scolded. "He's nice, he just can't eat or drink or think up new sentences or understand us, really. But he is NICE! Which means he's trying!" The preteen concluded, completing an internal mic drop.

"Exactly." Jon agreed. "Well put, Dickie. Even if he's... different--"

"A crime against nature." Damian corrected.

"--but he's a person, and he's trying his hardest. Right bud?"

"SUPER!" He exclaimed, pointing at Jon emphatically. 

"Yep. Super."