Date written: January 21 and February 03, 04, 2007
Word count: 2,000
Rating/Warnings: PG.
Characters/Pairing: Kal-El/Clark Kent, Martha Kent, Jonathan Kent, "Ma" Kent, Jor-El, Lara.
Genres/Plot summary: General/Origin story. Told through a series of 100-word drabbles, this story explores Kal-El’s origins from when he left Krypton. A pre-quel to Convergent Dreams (but, seeing as this is a pre-quel, no knowledge of that other story is necessary to read this one :). This is mainly based on Superman Returns; in other words, I’m creating canon by the seat of my pants.

Author’s Note: I blame jen_in_japan and 1_900_mimicry for being so encouraging. :P Huge thanks, as always, to tinheart. I couldn't ask for a better online wife and partner in crime :) I could come back to this 'verse at some point, but is a standalone/one-shot as of now.

Emergent Dreams

.resolution (001)

“This is a chance we have to take.”

“You’re certain that there’s no other way?” Her voice, hollow and lifeless, tore holes in his resolve. She placed a hand on their son’s face, facing away from him. Her hair, brilliantly silver, was stained red in the unnatural twilight.

He slipped a hand around her shoulders, placing a kiss to her ear.

“He will live, Lara. He will live. Of that I am sure.”

She nodded, once.

“Then let us prepare.”

He had never seen his wife more regal than she was now, drenched in the light of their dying sun.

.goodbyes (002)

The craft would have been beautiful but for its purpose, and in the greatest irony of them all, it was his finest achievement as a scientist, as a man.

He rested his forehead against the black surface, struggling for the strength.

“Time is short,” Lara said, stepping away from the crystalline matrix, her work complete.

Rising, he reached out, taking her hand, and they stood before the craft. Their son, perfection embodied, kicked his feet in the air.

“Kal-El,” Lara breathed, and Jor-El placed two fingers to his son’s chest in their oldest gesture of heartbond.

And then—he flew.

.journey (003)

Hibernation was a technology that, on the calculation spectrograms and in every simulation run, performed without a hitch.

What it lacked—what Jor-El knew it lacked—was the ephemeral touch that hands-on testing provided. Even their most advanced matrix could not account for all the variables, all the wonders the universe held.

The child, hurtling from the destruction of one world to find another, was too young to understand the intricacies of the craft that carried him safely.

But what he did understand, as all infants do, was the sound of his mother’s voice, saturated in every dream, whispering Kal-El.

.arrival (004)

The sphere burned with the brilliance of a falling star, structure battling against the forces, shuddering with the effort to maintain, every precaution that Jor-El had woven into it being tested, holding, holding, holding—

Falling from blackness, it broke white, streaked across blue, and descended in flames upon the lush green of the land.

The Kents felt the tremor vibrate through their bones.

“Martha, stay—”

She cocked the gun he hadn’t seen her get and Jonathan fell silent.

“Fine. But at least let me go first?”

She walked to the front door and opened it, smiling primly. “After you.”

.contact (005)

They spent an hour putting out the fires, clearing the debris, carefully watching the glowing crater, unable to decipher what lay inside.

What they’d seen didn’t look natural, even from a distance.

After washing the soot from their hands—neither had suggested calling the fire department or the authorities—they approached once more, hoping it would be cool enough to get within arms length.

But now that they were within arms length, they had no idea what to do.

Jonathan, on a whim, waved his hand in front of it. “Hello?”

He nearly fell over from shock when it opened.

.introductions (006)

“Good Lord.” Martha looked up at Jonathan, wonder suffusing her eyes. “He smiled back at me.”
“He can’t be a newborn, then.”

Martha smoothed a black lock away from his forehead. “I could have told you that.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, tearing his eyes away from the child. “Can you also tell me where he came from?”

“Why’s that so important? Let’s think about getting him cleaned up and fed.”

“We have to tell the authorities.”

She leveled an unwavering gaze at him, a lioness in her den. “And why would we do a thing like that?”

.decisions (007)

He padded over to the crib—the crib he was so sure they’d never need—and braced his hands on it, leaning forward. Martha’s breathing was heavy behind him.

“Who are you?” He whispered, looking at the infant.

The small hand held up simultaneously awed and frightened him. His tiny fist had curled, but not all the way; two fingers were held out.

Babies shouldn’t have that much control.

Heart in his throat, he put out an index finger, the first time he’d touched the child since they found him.

“Hello,” he said again. This time, it was in friendship.

.questions (008)

“No plane crash reports,” she said when he walked into the kitchen, newspapers scattered in a hurricane, stray hairs haloed around her head with the frustration that she wouldn’t let show on her face.

He sat, shaking his head grimly. “From what they told me, he’d be shuffled around ten ways from Sunday. And that’s after they try and figure out who he is. The police logs don’t have any babies missing.”

“What should we do?” The hope caught in her voice.

“Wait and see, I guess.”

There wasn’t much else they could do.

At least Martha was smiling again.

.worry (009)

“I don’t know what to give him, Jonathan.” The formula stains on her shirt were being renewed every day. Her eyes were bloodshot and shining with unshed tears.

“Let me take a look,” he said, putting down the hammer. Raising the crib walls could wait until later.

Taking the boy gingerly from Martha, he noted the scrunched up features, the blanched skin.

“We’re going to go do a little farming, aren’t we, son?”

Damn, he thought. Just slipped out.

“Farming?” The set of her eyebrows was skeptical.

“Fresh air’ll do him some good.”

She sighed. “I suppose it can’t hurt.”

.rites (010)

“Farming,” in this case, had been shorthand for “getting a long tour of the property.”

“That’s where the Hodgins’ place used to be,” he said, pointing. “And this is where I’m about to turn the cover crops over back into the soil.”

The baby gurgled.

“You’re right, ugly little buggers. Maybe I should have done it last week, huh?” He rubbed the boy’s tiny chin with his index finger.

Soon, like pieces falling into place, the tour shifted into a passage of lineage, one steward of the land granted his wisdom to the next. Just as his father had done.

.responsibility (011)

The weeks passed, and they learned through the oldest method of parenting known to man: necessity.

They learned that the boy couldn’t eat unless he’d gotten some sun first. Preferably half an hour, if not more.

They learned that he hardly slept, and almost never cried, but that he did want them, always.

They learned that they didn’t know half as much as they thought about taking care of a child.

They learned that despite all that, they were parents.

And they quickly learned what a parent’s love felt like, even if Jonathan was a bit slow on the uptake.

.plans (012)

Re-counting again wouldn’t make the bills replicate. “We can’t afford many more trips out of town,” he concluded.

“Then we’ll just have to get the supplies here.”

“They’re already talking about how strange we’ve been acting. We’ve going to start getting some worried visits it we buy formula and diapers.”

She tapped her nails on the table, eyes distant. “I’m going to go visit my sister LuAnne. When I come back, I’ll have our new adopted son with me.”

His brow furrowed. “You don’t have a sister named LuAnne.”

“Exactly.” She smiled a bit sadly. “I’m going to her funeral.”

.joining (013)

Martha, already in the driver’s seat, looked as calm as he wanted to feel.

“Promise me you’ll stay safe, honey.”

“I promise.” She held his hand reassuringly, giving him a prolonged kiss before turning to the road.

She paused as she was about to turn the key. “Wait.”

“What?” He automatically looked at the baby.

“What do we call him?” She asked, looking abashed.

Silence fell as they looked at him.

“Clark,” Jonathan volunteered. It felt right on his tongue.

She tiled her head to the side. “Clark Kent?”

“Your family, my family. Ours.”

“Ours,” she repeated, smiling. “Our boy.”

.return (014)

Four of the most nerve-wracking days of his life and she was back.

It was quite a few minutes before she loosened his hug enough to speak.

“Guessin’ you missed us?”

His annoyed-but-loving growl and breath-stealing kiss were answer enough.

“Next time we can make a family vacation out of it,” she said, grinning.

“You can bet on it,” he said, giving her one more peck before opening the back door and getting Clark out.

“So…you told everyone?”

He hoisted his son into his arms, smile splitting his face. “And they can’t wait to meet him.”

.meetings (015)

He’d never squirmed this much in her arms. Not when the doctor gave him shots, not when they changed his diapers. Never.

Martha, in a spot-on imitation of Ma Kent, started having vapors halfway through the party. Their friends were disappointed that the introduction was cut short, but most had children of their own. They understood.

“What do you suppose got into him?” Jonathan asked, unfolding Clark’s blankets.

“Couldn’t say.” But she put a hand on his arm, biting her lip. “How about he sleeps with us, tonight?”

Jonathan tossed the blankets onto the bed. “It would be an honor.”

.longing (016)

She woke to a small fist pressed against her heartbeat.

Clark’s sleeping face made it skip one. Where it was usually open, calm, she saw struggle, cries trapped behind lips pressed white, eyes painfully scrunched.

“Shhhhh.” She put her hand over his, drawing him close and feathering soft kisses on his crown.

This was what had been welling up in her son all evening—he’d started out cheerful, almost hopeful, and ended confused, lost. Like he’d been waiting for his… other parents.

“You miss them, don’t you?” She whispered, no question in her mind who her son was dreaming about.

.uncertainty (017)

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say this boy could live on pure sunshine.” He gave Clark a tickle on his belly, smiling at Martha.

“He sure seems to like it better than his formula,” she said wryly, shading her eyes from the midday brightness.

“Still fussing?”

“Even worse than before. Can’t really interest him in it.”

“But he’s not old enough for food?”

“Not according to the doctors.”

He chewed thoughtfully on his piece of straw. “Do they… know what he needs?”

“You think we should try anyway?”

“Don’t really know. But we have to try something, don’t we?”

.hiding (018)

“Extraordinary reflexes, Doc Rogers, said. Hear that, son? You’ve got yourself some extra-ordinary response time. We’ll have you playing ball in no time.” He twinkled his fingers along Clark’s toes while Martha set out dinner.

“What else did he say?”

“Oh, you know. Doctor mumbo-jumbo. But Clark here is a healthy boy, no doubt about it.”

“…nothing else?”

He knew what she was asking.

“Nope,” he said slowly, carrying Clark over to the table, kissing the worry line between Martha’s brows. “Far as Rogers could tell, he’s normal.”

She leaned against him. “He looks happy, doesn’t he?”

“He really does.”

.blessing (019)

“Boy doesn’t laugh or smile much,” she observed, looking at Martha like she could answer for this quirk.

“I think it’s just the way he’s made.” Martha said, wringing the towel out and biting her lip, too ashamed to say I’m not sure what it is yet that makes him laugh and smile.

“Well,” she conceded, setting Clark on her ample hip, “Jonathan wasn’t much of a smiler at this age either, and look at him now.”

“Really?” Martha couldn’t stop the hope that laced itself into her voice.

Ma Kent laughed, more gentle than Martha had ever heard. “Really.”

.first (020)

“Happy Birthday dear Clark,
Happy Birthday to you.”

Jonathan and Martha blew out the single candle.

It had been quite a year for the new parents, the constant on the job parent training and Clark’s unique needs showing them the best and worst aspects of taking responsibility for another life.

There were ups, many downs, and more than anything, surprises. But they’d all come out on the other side, happy, healthy, and whole—even ready for more.

Their friends clapped, they began to cut cake, and their friend Thomas insisted the Kents gather for a picture.

Their first family portrait.

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