I don't own and did not create any of these characters. I make no money from this, so please enjoy for free.
Clark woke before the sun began to light the sky. His inner alarm had gone off. He heard the cows stirring outside, so theirs must have done the same.
He sat up and stretched. Then he zoomed around the room dressing at superspeed. He knew the room by heart and didn't want to wake his pa. He might just get most of their work done before he joined him if he didn't.
Clark zipped down the stairs a bit slower, because by then he was wearing more layers and headed down instead of over a flat surface. He also sped to the sink and stove top despite being on linoleum. This was why he wore tennis shoes though he'd switch to boots before stepping outside.
He filled the teakettle with the first water to come out of the spout, set it on a burner, and turned the burner on. Then he filled the large glass pitcher his ma made ice tea in during the summer. Instead of turning the water off, he replaced the pitcher with a mason jar before setting the pitcher down and zipping for the door. Just outside and to the right sat an upside down bucket. A layer of frost broke around its rim as he lifted it off the doorstep. He carried it by the handle inside, turned off the water, and filled the pail from both the pitcher and jar.
Clark walked slowly through the barnyard to the corral so as not to spill his burden. He opened the gate under several watchful eyes. The cows were on him as soon as he walked through.
Clark used his free hand to shove them back. He chuckled remembering the first time he successfully pushed them back, causing them to startle, trot away, and stare at him from a yard away. He guessed no human had ever shown them who was boss that way. His smile got more wry as he reminded himself he wasn't human.
The cattle followed him back to the shed they'd probably just exited. They might as well wait for him inside since they did this every day, but he guessed livestock, like people, got impatient. He strode to the trough and poured some of the bucket's contents onto the small stream of ice at its bottom. He gave the weakening sheet a light punch to break it up. Then he lifted the trough, cracking the frozen earth its legs sat in as they broke away from it, and dragged it out of the shed to dump it.
He and pa used to just scrape the ice over the sides, or now and then turn it over inside the shed when it got really disgusting. Now, though, he could do this every day so why not make the cows' water and shelter a little cleaner? He lifted and pulled the trough back inside and set one end under the pump. He listened as he lifted the pump's handle gently. He didn't hear the gurgling that meant there was ice in the pipe.
His pa had told him having the pump in a shed with three walls and the open space for the cows to go in and out facing the south helped keep the pipe poking out of the ground and the water inside from freezing especially with the body heat of the cows surrounding it on the coldest days and nights. Also, the pipe leading to the spring had been placed under the frost layer of the earth. He wished he could have been there as he was now when his pa had spent hours one spring digging the hole to place it there. He could do a lot to help his pa now though.
Soon, water was spurting out of the pump filling the trough and the cows were pushing at each other drinking from it. He added the rest of the hot water from the pail to warm their drink up a bit. Then he carried the bucket back to the porch, dried it out with a rag hanging just inside the door for that purpose, and set it upside down again. Next, he walked to the barn.
Once inside, he jumped up into the hayloft. He'd found he could touch the top of the roof in June and thought after that it might be frugal to spare the ladder wear and tear. Now, he just jumped high enough to grab hold of the side of the floor with his fingers and hoist himself over. Once he did that, he paused lying on the straw and listening to the mice and cats scurry away from him. He consciously made the straw crunch and boards creak under his feet as he walked toward a haybale to scare the critters out of it. Then picked it up and slung it over the edge. He continued till he knew he had a good supply and then stepped off himself. Seeing this might scare his ma, but his pa had gotten used to it over the summer.
Clark then carried the hay bales to and tossed them over the fence. The cows had already lined up to watch him. Then he jumped over the fence himself. The cattle didn't even blink an eye. The first time they'd seen him do that they'd shied, but now they huddled around the hay bales bawling for him to get even more of a move on.
"Hush! You'll wake Pa!"
Clark loosened the bindings and spread the hay over the ground. The cattle began to munch. Then Clark ran to the barn to get the bag of feed. He carried it out, tossed it over, jumped over himself, and carried it to the second trough in the shed tearing it open with his bare hands.
As he marched back to the house Clark saw the door swing open by the light of the gradually graying sky. His pa grinned at him as a crow came from the henhouse. "I'll get the poultry if you already got the cattle tended."
Clark grinned back with a nod. The hens and rooster weren't a picnic exactly. The rooster sometimes spurred them, thankfully, usually on their jean-covered legs. The hens pecked especially when you took their eggs, but rarely drew blood. The worst part of tending them in winter was their water dispensers could get heavy if enough liquid froze inside them. Still, carrying them at their worst was a lot easier than lifting hay bales and water troughs.
Nonetheless, Clark leaned on a fencepost and watched the sunrise. He kept his eyes on the horizon while listening to his pa's breaths, heartbeats, and the slight creaking of his bones. It was actually hard to pick these sounds out from the whooshing and rustling of feathered wings and cackle of birds crowding at the door in the henhouse. One slipped past his pa. Thankfully, the hen wasn't as interested in getting away and running through the nippy air of freedom as getting back inside to get its share of feed. To spare it another moment out in the cold and his pa frustration, Clark super-sped over and behind the chicken before the bird had fully realized its situation. He scooped it up and tossed it back through the door crack once his pa stepped inside and to the side to clear the way. "Thanks Boy."
Clark nodded with a grin and stayed outside turning back to the sunrise, but still listening to his pa stomp and talking back to the calmoring birds. Clark also heard the dumping of the current contents of the feeders and opening of the metal can filled with the chicken food. Clark swore he saw some of the smarter hens staring at the can, sometimes, perhaps plotting how to overturn it and spill its whole bounty. He heard the ground up corn and more clatter into the metal feeder and a few happy clucks soon replaced by pecking beaks. Then his pa carried out the water dish and began using the hot water from the same pail Clark had used earlier to clean it out of ice, straw, and what chickens left everywhere before refilling it with the same. As he carried back in, one of the more spirited chickens flew out probably more purposefully than the last escapee. Clark was on it and tossing it back in before his pa turned around.
After his pa set their water down inside for the chickens, gathered their eggs, and took the latter inside, he came back out and stood beside Clark. For a minute or so they watched the sun peak over the frozen fields together. "Still feeling pretty good son?"
For the millionth time, Clark regretted telling his parents he noticed a dip in his strength and overall feeling of wellbeing in winter. He answered in a bright voice, "Good enough to get all the chores done and then some pa." He turned a grin to the big man he was just as tall as now.
His pa smiled, and kept his eyes on the horizon while asking, "Feeling even better now the sun is shining on ya?"
Clark gave a more sincere grin, nodded, and began unwinding the scarf from around his neck. He tipped his head back exposing even more of his uncovered throat as well as his whole face to the sun's rays even though the temperature was still under freezing. To tell the truth he didn't even think he needed all these layers now, but it made his ma happier to see him wear them.
After another few moments of soaking in the sun, more literally than even he himself realized, Clark heard his ma descending the stairs. Clark looked toward the kitchen alerting his pa before saying. "I think I'll look the critters over more carefully before comin in for breakfast."
"Alright." His pa didn't even bother going with him or saying more. There was a time, he'd taught a much shorter and spindly Clark from behind the fence how to watch a cow's gait and see if she limps. Then much closer and with their gentlest beast he taught his son how to check for lice. He'd also pointed out chickens who'd been pecked by their fellow birds or had suffered from frostbite on their combs or feet to a frowning elementary school age Clark. Now, several books borrowed from the library and the veterinarian later, Clark knew every bone, muscle, and organ a cow or chicken had, as well as their known purposes and places. Recently, he'd admitted to his pa he could not only see through their feathers and fur, but through their skin. Now he thought he could see even the outlines of their bones through their muscles on really sunny days. And, he just knew their livestock in general after taking care of them so long. Once you got to know a beast you could often tell when it was "off." Still, it took a little sunlight for even Clark to examine their animals.
So, Clark returned to the shed and gave them some scratches while using his x-ray and microscopic vision to make sure what was in the cow's fur was dander or dirt, not a parasite. Once satisfied, he did the same for the poultry in the henhouse. He nodded to himself in satisfaction again, before heading for the house.
As he strode toward the back door, Clark's ma opened it holding a different pail. Her warm eyes met his gaze with a question in them. "Want to give these scraps to the barn cats before coming in?"
Clark nodded. Sometimes, his ma, who liked the cats probably more than he and his pa and anyone on their farm since Moe left, would do it herself after breakfast. But it was pretty cold, and he would already have to clean himself up once he got inside, so why not stay out a little longer and spare his ma the cold and cleaning up. He reached out, took the bucket, and turned back to the barn.
At first the cats hid. They came out some for his ma, though they didn't like her to touch them. They hadn't really trusted anyone to do that since Moe. Actually, now he thought about it, Clark didn't think a single cat alive on their place now that had been during Moe's time. This made Clark sigh as he overturned a large dish, banged out the dust and straw in it and poured the mixture of hot water, milk, and raw meat into it. As he took a few steps back, cats dashed out of dark corners and from beneath vehicles to begin lapping and gulping up the mixture. Clark watched for a moment, and then frowned.
The old tom's left ear looked different. He used his x-ray and microscopic vision to see its blood was moving too sluggish near its edge. If he left it alone, maybe the cat would rub it or sit in the oncoming sun warming it up enough to take care of the problem. But, sometimes when the problem had gone far enough, the animal might not even notice the issue until frostbite set in.
Clark could smell his own breakfast behind him. He stood another moment, watching, thinking. Then he stifled a sigh. It would worry his ma, when he didn't come in right away, but she'd understand even better than pa.
Clark concentrated on keeping quiet this time. He crept carefully around the animal, which was still fixated on eating. He didn't even dare take a deep breath, but let the old tom get basically to the bottom of the bowl and begin sniffing for any last tidbit Clark already knew wasn't there, before snapping his arm down and grabbing it by the scruff of the neck. The tom began a yowl before Clark lifted it up. Then the beast went slack and bug-eyed in his grip.
Clark had read this reaction was a holdover from a cat's kittenhood. He held it up toward the cracked open doorway where some sunlight spilled through. No, that wouldn't be near enough energy to do the work. He reached up with his free hand and took hold of the corner of its problem ear with his fingertips. Concern filled his heart a bit more upon noticing just how cool to his touch it felt. He began rubbing the thin layer of skin and pink flesh, but the process didn't seem to help as fast as he'd hoped. The frozen, bug-eyed face seemingly stretched in terror at his touch began to bother Clark even more as the process dragged on.
The other cats had already scattered, and some were staring in even more distant worry at his strange actions toward one of their own. Clark sighed before sitting down in front of the dish cross legged. Then he lowered the beast into his lap. Claws dug into his pants on contact. The winter clothing was thick winter pants, and the organic barbs didn't reach his skin. A growl came from the Tom's throat, though. Its tail lashed. Clark tried to talk low and soothingly to it, still holding on to that bunch of loose flesh and fur at the back of the neck and rubbing the ear while watching the cells between his fingertips get filled up with blood and warm through friction.
At his mother's call, Clark looked up and called back. The cat's heartbeat had just begun to slow before the sounds and picked up at the noise and his ma's footsteps. She came to the door and looked in. Her eyes widened, but she said nothing.
A few moments later, satisfied with his work, but already telling himself he'd come back to check on the Tom after breakfast, Clark finally pulled both his hands back. The beast zoomed off his lap almost as fast as Clark had been moving that morning. Then teenager stood up and faced his mother with a shrug, "It's ear was close to frostbite, I think. So I thought I'd try to prevent that."
His ma nodded, and then looked down at his pants and raised an eyebrow. "You're covered in cat-hair Clark."
Clark looked down and saw orange, white hairs, and even a few gray hairs scattered on his pants and bottom of his coat. He looked back to meet his ma's gaze more seriously. "I'll pick em all off later ma. Promise. It won't even take me a minute and I'll do it outside."
His ma gave a gentle smile. "You know, your pa doesn't even let us call the vet about a cat. Barely even lets me feed em. They don't pay for themselves like the livestock beyond maybe keeping the rats and mice from eating some of the livestock's feed. Besides … I didn't think you were all that fond of them. Not nearly as much as I. You always wanted a dog."
Clark shrugged again. "I know, but … it was just something I could do something about to help a critter. It's a living thing with feelings, physical ones anyway, and it didn't end up hurting me none."
HIs ma nodded with slightly wet eyes. Then they walked side by side into the house, though Clark peeled his pants and coat off outside, he had long johns on underneath his winter work pants and a long sweater on underneath the coat. As he did this, his ma told his pa what the delay was. The concern that it had involved an animal that paid for itself, as long as it didn't get "too" sick and thus produced a huge veterinarian bill, faded from pa's face. As his pa looked down to his breakfast and speared a bit of egg, he murmured, "'A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast …' or in this case the ear of his barn cat."
His ma chuckled. Clark grinned as he washed his hands and sat down before his own plate of food that had grown slightly cool. To tell the truth his pa's comment made more sense to him than the "real" last half of Proverbs 12:10.
Most of the time, Clark didn't even bother finishing the verse in his mind. He had a lot of practical experience living out the first half as did his parents and neighbors and thus had reason to recite it to himself or others now and then. He didn't "doubt" the second part of it exactly. Doubting scripture wasn't wise according to most of the adults he knew and all those he most respected.
He had little experience with and could think of no use for the second part of this particular Bible verse though. "But the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel …"
He'd had some experience with the school bully, dismissive at some times and jealous at others older classmates, and even rude grouchy adults since he was a kid, mostly his bully's uncle. "Tender mercy" didn't seem to describe angry punches to his young gut before his powers kicked in, or the sneers he'd get later after offering to help older kids with their homework, or the "Get out of my way kid" from an adult walking past him in a store.
The first time he'd overheard the strange verse recited in church, he'd puzzled over how contradictory the words "tender mercy" and "cruel" were. How could anything be both? When he talked to his pa about it later, his father had simply said "Maybe that's the point son." After thinking about it a second, Clark shrugged and went on with his work. His Pa seemed to strengthen the rightness of his course of thought and action by saying, "Besides, we got plenty of ability to practice the first part of that verse anyway." Clark nodded and deeply believed that at least ever since. Neither child Clark then, nor teen Clark that cold morning he got covered in cat hair knew how in his manhood things would change …
. . .
As the green glow was cut off he just concentrated on breathing before opening his eyes to see a smiling face on the other side of thick, but still amazingly transparent glass. As the intense eyes met his, the grinning mouth beneath them opened. "Feel like vomiting yet?"
Superman couldn't respond. His body hurt and his mind went blank at the light tone and happy face. His own reaction changed neither. Instead, both face and voice went on. "It's normal for radiation poisoning victims to feel nauseous. Would you like a bucket?"
The word "bucket" made him think of his life from a few years ago, particularly the summers when he wasn't in college.
"A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast; but the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel." Clark realized he'd really thought till then the wise man who'd written that was purposefully exaggerating. Now, he knew better …
Alexander Luther's look, tone, and words almost affected Superman's soul as the kryptonite had his body that hour almost pure shock followed by sickness, weakness, and despair. It had been the first time the rich, genius socialite who made grand speeches and gave rich gifts to the public had shown that side of himself to Clark, or to Superman. But, the second part of Proverbs 12:10 had finally made sense to Johnathan Kent's son … Sadly it wouldn't be the last time.
Darkseid would later grin triumphantly into his face as they were almost nose to nose with no and gently run his dark thumb down Superman's bloody bruised cheek like he was a beloved child. Clark realized later, Darkseid treated his favorite possessions like that sometimes. Apocalypse ruler has thought at the moment Superman begged him to stop his punishment, he'd been broken like a mustang and was proud of his new powerful acquisition, which had almost made him tender and just a little bit merciful. That all changed when Superman dared fight back again later. After his first escape, that tenderness toward him never returned to the dictator.
Livewire once ceased shocking Superman to giggle over his prone gasping body. As he caught his breath at her feet and looked up into her face Superman realized fully that "no," she wasn't being interrupted by someone coming to his rescue, she was just choosing to give him a moment's reprieve and maybe make him wait a moment in hope before continuing the torture.
Sometime after the boy left the farm, after cattle stopped coming to him morning after morning for nourishment, after he stopped rubbing cats' ears to prevent frostbite, he found protecting and rescuing humans took so much time and caused so much heartache tending animals became a vacation. Soon after that, the wicked and powerful turned their greedy eyes upon him. Then Clark learned … "The tender mercies of the wicked are cruel" was truer than his younger self could have imagined. There was a greater depth and sickening sophistication to cruelty in other souls he'd never encountered in Smallville. Not letting that change how he lived out the first part of that Bible verse became much harder, but more important to him afterward.
What do you think?
God bless
ScribeofHeroes