Summary: Sometimes a small act of kindness can set the stage for something much greater.

Author’s note: Happy Ficlet Friday! I missed last week, but I hope this little tale makes up for it smile Special thanks to KSaraSara for helping me smooth out a few parts and for reminding me to take the time to laugh when I need to.


Destined: Prologue
By Bek


“Dad! Dad! Come quick, Dad, I found—”

“Whoa, easy now, son. What have you got there?”

“It’s a kitten, Dad. But he’s…sick or something. We have to help him.”

Ten-year-old Clark Kent cradled the tiny, shivering ball of bright orange fur in his hands, pressed up against his chest. He watched with concern as his father peered at the kitten, shaking his head slightly.

“He’s young. Maybe three weeks old. And…tiny. He needs a vet, Clark,” Jonathan Kent said quietly.

“But Dad, the roads are… You said we won’t be going anywhere for at least several days because of the snow.” Clark’s voice shook as he began gently rubbing the kitten with one hand. Its eyes opened halfway, and it let out a pitiful, weak mew. “What are we gonna do? We can’t just let him die, Dad.”

“Well, Clark, you know, Mother Nature sometimes has a way of dealing with these things. He looks a bit like a runt. And he’s not well…”

Clark shook his head again. “I’ll take care of him, Dad. I have to try. I can’t just…let him die. Not if there’s something I can do.” He held his dad’s gaze with resolve, even as the little orange kitten sneezed and wheezed.

After a moment, the older man nodded. “Okay. Let’s head inside. He needs to be kept warm, and we’ll need to try to feed him. Your mother should know what’ll be best. But…”

Clark lowered his eyes as his dad’s voice trailed off. He knew that his dad was just being realistic. He wasn’t that naïve. He’d grown up on a farm, after all. He knew that sick animals sometimes didn’t make it, especially young, sick animals in the dead of winter.

The kitten sneezed again and shivered, and Clark pulled one corner of his coat around the precious bundle as he followed his dad out of the barn and trudged through the thick snow to the farmhouse.

Ten minutes later, he sat at the kitchen table, tickling the edge of the kitten’s mouth with a syringe of warm broth his mother had prepared. He sat patiently and waited. A tiny drop of the liquid seeped off the end of the syringe, and the kitten reluctantly opened its mouth and lapped at the droplet.

With a smile, Clark tried again, moving the end of the syringe gently into the kitten’s mouth. This time, the tiny creature showed a hint of eagerness, turning its head slightly and opening its mouth in anticipation.

“Not too much now, dear. Slowly. And keep him pressed up against you to stay warm.”

Clark nodded and followed his mother’s instructions, giving the kitten only a small drop of the broth at a time and continuing to cradle it up against him. He grinned as the kitten mewled quietly and began kneading its tiny paws into his chest. A few minutes later, the syringe now empty, the kitten curled up and closed its eyes again. A soft purr rumbled in the kitten’s chest.

Clark looked up at his parents, who stood together in the kitchen watching him. He attempted a hopeful smile, but his expression faltered as he felt a sudden pang of sympathy for the little creature.

The kitten was alone. Alone and helpless and fragile…

Just like he’d been before his parents had adopted him as a baby.

He stroked the kitten’s fur gently and then lifted it to his cheek, closing his eyes. He could feel its strong, steady heartbeat and the vibration of its purr in its chest.

“I’ll take care of you, little guy,” he murmured. The kitten stretched a bit, yawned, and then settled back against Clark’s cheek. He opened his eyes and tilted his head up a bit to meet his parents’ gazes. Then he managed a smile that was both bright and hopeful. His eyes drifted from his parents back to the tiny orange kitten, and he whispered, “I’ll take care of you, just like my parents took care of me.”

Clark felt his mom’s hand on his shoulder, and he glanced up at her, blinking back a rush of gratitude. Then he listened carefully as his mother explained how to prepare the broth and how he’d have to feed the kitten every few hours and be sure to keep it warm. He asked her to write everything down for him because even though he had a great memory, he didn’t want to risk forgetting. And she nodded and sent him to his room to get a box prepared for the kitten to sleep in.

Hours later, as he settled into bed for the night, he peered down to the floor next him, where the kitten slept in its own makeshift bed, curled up partly underneath a small, dark blue blanket.

The kitten had eaten two more times already, and it had even woken up, mewed loudly, and purred again when Clark had held it.

The little guy was a fighter. Brave and strong, like Clark’s favorite comic book hero, Fantastic Finn. Sure, the kitten may not become a cape-wearing superhero who would save the world, but he could certainly be Clark’s friend.

With a smile, Clark whispered, “That’s your name then, little guy. I’ll call you Finn. And you’ll be safe and loved here…just like me.”



The End.