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Smallville, 1989, pt.1 (FanFic Challenge)
Rating: PG-13 for some mild language and the aftermath of destruction
Time: immediately after the meteor shower
Disclaimer: all characters of the Superman universe are property of DC Comics, the WB, et al. The rest of this work is fiction. Other parts will be posted if there is enough interest.
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Smallville, Kansas, October 27, 1989.
"Sam! Lunch is on the table and it's getting cold!"
Sam McIntyre straightened up and groaned. Where was it written that the older you got the more aches and pains came with it? He rubbed his stiff back, but smiled in satisfaction at the neat stack of pumpkins and squashes he'd made in the corner of the barn. His wife, Josie, had managed to produce another bumper crop, guaranteed to keep all their friends in pumpkin pies and zucchini bread for weeks to come.
"Sam?" Josie poked her head in around the barn door. "Sam, did you hear me?"
"I'm not deaf, woman," he growled, but smiled at her. She was a bit rounder than she'd been when he's married her, and her hair was gray, but she was still his Josie. The same woman he'd met at a Metropolis USO dance and who'd insisted they settle in her hometown when he'd gotten back from Korea.
"I know how much you like cold soup, Sam," she teased. "Thank you for getting the pumpkins squared away. Did you keep back the two I'm saving for Martha Kent? She wants to try her hand at making her Thanksgiving pies from scratch this year."
"Yes, ma'am." He put his arm around his wife and gave her a squeeze. "How's the football game going? I know you were listening to it on that little transistor radio you have in the kitchen."
Josie beamed. "We won."
"Was there ever any doubt?"
"Not really. Smallville High hasn't lost a homecoming game since, goodness, my day."
Arm in arm the couple stepped out into the yard. It was a beautiful Kansas autumn day, with a sky so blue it hurt to look at it. There was a bite to the air, though, even with the sun shining. A reminder that winter would not be far behind.
"I want to get those planting beds covered this afternoon," Sam mused aloud. "I'm guessing there'll be frost in a few days." The McIntyre home, though no longer a working farm, boasted one of the biggest gardens in the area. Josie was renown far and wide for her green thumb and never failed to take a blue ribbon in the state fair. This year it had been her turnips and carrots, the year before, pumpkins.
"No rush, dear," she squeezed his middle.
"Just keeping busy," he sighed.
"I know, Sam. I know it's been hard to adjust to being retired."
"It's just hard, when you've been a doctor as long as I was, to hang up your shingle." Dr. McIntyre had retired in August, just after his sixty-fifth birthday. The town had given him a retirement party in the Grange Hall.
"Of course it is." Josie stopped and looked up at him. "But think, Sam, of all the free time we have now. You're not tied to your office, no more midnight calls. I have you all to myself." She stood on tiptoes to kiss him.
"Hmm. Well, I guess it was time," he conceded. "They've got the new hospital now, quite a step up from the old clinic. Bill Curtis showed me around. All the fancy new equipment—didn't recognize half of it," Sam chuckled. "And six doctors on staff, Josie! Never thought I'd see the day. Smallville's growing by leaps and bounds."
"It'll grow some more if Joe Ross really does sell the plant to this Luthor fellow," his wife countered. "They say everything with him is bigger and better."
"I suppose." He paused on the porch steps. "And lord knows we could use more jobs if crop prices keep falling. Still, I will kind of miss the way things were."
Josie opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the strangest noise Sam had ever heard. A high-pitched whistling, almost like…
"Sam, look!" Josie pointed across the road, where a ball of fire streaked across the sky. They watched, open-mouthed, as it disappeared into a cornfield. For a split second there was no sound, and then a deafening boom echoed across the open space. The earth shook and both of them nearly fell off the steps.
"What in God's name…?"
"There's another one!" Another fiery ball plummeted to earth, seemingly out of nowhere. Even from this distance Sam could hear the sonic boom as it impacted a mile away. A plume of purple-black smoke spiraled up into the blue sky from the site.
Sam seized his wife's arm and hustled her into the house. He knew it was foolish, but he felt he had to do something to protect Josie. In the army they had taught him never to be caught in the open during a bombing raid. But how did you protect someone from fire falling from the sky?
Josie clung to him. "Sam? What are they?"
He hugged her closer. "I don't know."
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"He must have parents, Martha." Limping slightly, Jonathan Kent followed the black burn marks made by the impact of whatever it was that had fallen from the sky. His wife, Martha, followed behind him, holding the little boy they'd found.
Jonathan just didn't understand what was happening. Something had just narrowly missed their truck, impacting in a nearby field. He'd slammed on the brakes so hard the truck had rolled. Fortunately, they'd both had their seatbelts on and, except for scratches and bruises, they were both all right. His truck was probably a total loss, but he knew when to count his blessings.
And there had been this little boy, naked as the day he was born, smiling as if he recognized them. Jonathan had never seen the child before, but he guessed he could belong to one of the new families moving into town. But then what was he doing out…
He stopped in his tracks, as did Martha behind him.
An object lay in the crater just in front of them. It looked like it was made of metal, although now scorched black in places. With its pointed nose and wings it looked almost…well, Jonathan knew it was crazy but it looked almost like a little ship. A little space ship…
"Whoever they are, they're definitely not from Kansas." Martha stood next to him, staring at the strange object. Jonathan opened his mouth to answer, but no words would come out. He could only look at the black-haired toddler wrapped snugly in his jacket in Martha's arms. Instead he peered up into the smoke-streaked sky, as if he'd somehow find an answer up there.
"Jonathan?" Martha said tentatively. "It's cold out here; I think we should take him home, at least for now."
Jonathan sighed heavily. He knew Martha was right.
"Looks like we'll have to walk, but it can't be more than a quarter mile or so home."
He helped his wife climb out of the crater, leaving behind the strange object. From the overturned truck he grabbed his keys, and, on a whim, gathered up the scattered tulips they'd bought that afternoon. As they started down the road he couldn't help but notice how tightly Martha carried the mysterious child.
He sighed inwardly. After the last miscarriage Martha had taken the news that they'd probably never have a biological child so calmly. More calmly than he had, to tell the truth. But he knew it preyed on her mind. The last thing she needed was to become attached to a little boy they couldn't keep. Especially a little boy who had entered their lives from, well, wherever he came from.
After they'd trudged in silence for a while, he paused to look at her. "He must be getting heavy, Martha. Let me carry him."
Martha looked for a moment like she might object, but changed her mind and handed the little boy to him. As she did so he smoothed her hair away from her sooty face.
She made a face. "Jonathan, don't. I must be a sight."
"You sure are. You look beautiful," he said truthfully. He settled the child in the crook of his arm the way he's seen Martha do. The boy was surprisingly solid for something so small. "He's heavier than he looks."
"I don't mind," Martha smiled.
Jonathan's smile faded. Clearly he and his wife would have to have a long talk when they got home.
The child remained silent as they walked, although he smiled up at Jonathan and periodically glanced over at Martha as if reassuring himself she was still there. Not knowing anything about kids Jonathan wondered how old he was. The boy looked to be about the same size as little Lana Lang, which would make him almost three. But Lana spoke in full sentences. This child didn't say a word. But then maybe the boy was in some kind of shock, and he'd start chattering away soon enough. Jonathan really didn't know. Finally the roof of the Kent barn appeared over the horizon, and he grinned. "Almost home."
"Everything looks ok," Martha said with a frown. "We'll have to check the fields, though."
Jonathan was tempted to laugh. Martha had spent her whole life in the city until she'd married him, but she'd taken to farm life like a duck to water.
"First thing's first. Let's get inside and get cleaned up." He tucked the boy under his arm as they ascended the porch steps, which the child seemed to enjoy. The interior of the farmhouse was snug and cool, just as it had been when they'd left.
Martha hurriedly circled the first floor of her home.
"A few pictures are down, but that seems to be all of the damage." She smiled at the little boy. "Shall we put you down?" She took the boy in her arms again and carried him over to the couch, where she gently set him down.
The child looked around him with bright eyes, and then settled down to study his fingers with rapt attention.
"Jonathan, would you get me a washcloth? And maybe you could find something he could wear?"
"I think I've still got that green sweatshirt that shrunk in the wash." He paused on his way upstairs. "Martha?"
His wife was kneeling down in front of the boy, smoothing his hair away from his face. "Yes?"
"Don't…don't get too attached. To him. We still need to find out where he came from, so he can go back."
Martha leveled her gaze at him. "I think we both know where he came from, Jonathan. But neither of us wants to admit it."
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"Lord almighty." Joe Ross looked out over what had, until a few minutes ago, been his corn crop. When the meteor had hit he and his son, Mark, had taken cover behind their truck, as had Lionel Luthor's pilot. Luthor himself had stood his ground. Luckily the impact had been far enough away that no one had gotten hurt. At least that's what he'd thought, until Luthor had rushed out into the flattened cornfield in search of his son.
"Mark, see if any of the phone lines are still up. I think we might need some help out here."
"Sure, pop." His son sprinted back inside, nearly colliding with employees who, having heard and felt the impact, were rushing outside to see what was happening.
Joe hurried out after Mr. Luthor, unable to keep pace with the younger man. He hadn't understood why the man had brought his boy out here in the first place; there was nothing for the sour-faced child to do. No boy wanted to stand around while adults signed paperwork. No wonder he'd gone off to play in the field…
"Lex? Lex!" Luthor was shouting, his voice echoing around the vacant space. Joe realized it was unnaturally quiet because most of the animals and birds that had occupied the cornfield had been killed in the impact, and the flattened corn could no longer rustle in the wind. Of course, the ruined corn was technically not his problem, since five minutes ago the creamed corn factory had become Mr. Luthor's property. But Joe had children and grandchildren of his own. He couldn't imagine what Luthor must be feeling right now.
Up ahead he saw Luthor dig around in a pile of fallen corn, and then step back, an expression of horror on his face. Ross steadied himself for what he might find.
"Mr. Luthor? What is it?"
The man didn't respond. He just stood there like a man transfixed. Joe brushed past him.
Mr. Luthor's son was curled on his right side, his pale hands in fists. Joe breathed a sigh of relief to see the child's eyes were open. The boy moaned faintly, and shivered violently. His fancy school clothes were covered with dirt. The flaming red hair, the first thing Ross had noticed about the boy, lay about him in tufts. Only a few strands clung to his scalp.
Joe didn't take the time to ponder what had happened to the child. He pulled off his coat and wrapped the boy in it.
"Mr. Luthor? Your boy's in shock. We need to get him into town."
Finally Luthor raised his eyes to Joe's. He nodded slightly.
Fortunately the child was thin and small for his age; Joe had no trouble picking him up in his arms. Strangely Luthor didn't rush forward to take the child from him, so Ross carried him as he hurried out of the field with the other man on his heels. Mark and Luthor's pilot met them halfway.
"Phone lines are down, Dad, even 911. The town must have been hit, too." Staring at the bald child, Mark looked from his father to Mr. Luthor and back again. "What happened to him?"
"Don't know, but he needs a doctor." Joe could feel the boy shuddering in his arms, and the child's pale forehead was drenched in sweat. His eyes were open but unseeing.
"The rotors are bent, Mr. Luthor," the pilot said, gesturing to his chopper. "They must have been hit with debris. There's no way we can take off."
"We'll take my truck," Mark offered.
"Good thinking." Joe nodded at his oldest son and then turned to face his former workforce. They were huddled around the factory doors, still in white coveralls and hairnets.
"All of you go home, check on your families. We're closing for the day," he hollered, forgetting for a moment that he was no longer their boss. Everyone else had apparently forgotten, too, because they started sprinting for the parking lot.
As carefully as he could Ross put the boy in his father's arms. This whole time Luthor hadn't uttered a word. He now stood there looking at his child as if he didn't recognize him, almost as if he was tempted to hand him back. It was absolutely unnatural.
"We'll get you and your boy to Smallville General, Mr. Luthor," Joe promised anyway. "Just keep him warm until we get there, all right?"
Luthor just looked at him vacantly, but finally nodded.
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