[Chapter 11: Child]Mitchell blinked back the white spots that peppered his vision after the blinding flash, and was horrified to find Superman no longer standing.
However, that was not what was most alarming.
“Yes! Well now, things should get interesting." Mxyzptlk grinned devilishly before he disappeared.
Mitchell didn't even glance the creature’s way, for his eyes were fixed on the form crumpled in the road.
The famous red cape remained, as well as the red and blue suit. The problem was that it was all
smaller. Along with the one wearing them.
Superman, somehow, was no longer a man at all! He was a boy. Perhaps six years old or even five!
Everyone was speechless for a long moment before Mitchell snapped out of it first and took control.
"Get the crowd back, set up a perimeter," he ordered, using his hands to direct. "And get the suspect to processing."
They nodded obediently and hurried to their tasks as Mitchell grabbed his radio and approached the motionless form who he could only assume was an unconscious, de-aged Superman.
"1243 to Dispatch, we have a situation at the intersection of King and Main. Requesting 5643 to get here
now," Mitchell said, thinking fast.
5643 was Bill Henderson's badge number. After what had happened with Bill's daughter roughly two years before, he was the precinct's unofficial expert on Superman, so Mitchell could think of no one better to help, especially when considering how close the precinct was to their location compared to the Foundation.
"Copy that. 5643 is being notified. What is the situation?" Dispatch asked.
"5-5 is down. Contact the Foundation. A 3-8 appeared, literally, and just disappeared after igniting the truck from the chase and attacking 5-5," Mitchell stated, wondering how he should elaborate further over the radio. He had never thought, in a million years, he would actually be using A.R.T., Alien Response Training!
5-5 was code for ‘Superman’, utilizing the letters K-L on the phone keypad to represent 'Kal-El'. And 3-8, fittingly, stood for ‘E-T’, short for, of course, Extraterrestrial.
"Description and . . . abilities?" Dispatch asked, doing a remarkable job, all things considered, of keeping their voice level as they followed their protocol cheat-sheet on Alien Response.
"White male, 6 foot, average build, dark, curly hair, in renaissance-era clothing," Mitchell answered. At least that bit was somewhat normal. Now for the weird part. "Abilities: invisibility, levitation, ignition or . . . uh, magic? He identified himself as, I'm not joking, 'Mr. Mix-yez-pit-a-lick', and stated he was from the 5th Dimension."
Dispatch took a long moment to answer, but when they did their voice was stilted. "Injuries?"
"Only 5-5. Appears to be unconscious and he's . . . I can't believe what I'm seeing. Sorry. I'm assessing further. Standby," Mitchell said, kneeling down and carefully placing his hand on the boy's cape-covered shoulder. He gently turned him onto his back. "Kal-El?" he questioned.
The boy stirred, mercifully, and Mitchell felt he could breathe again.
"Kal-El?" he asked again as the youthified hero blinked up at him in thick confusion. And then the confusion morphed to worry as he sat up and looked around, spotting the gathering crowds of people and the still smoking truck.
Superm– no, Mitchell couldn't even mentally refer to him as that– the boy's eyes widened in fear and focused back on Mitchell.
"Where am I? Where’s my mom?" Little Kal asked.
There was suddenly a pulse of alarm from Kal's form, but it retracted back a few seconds after. Superman’s aura.
Mitchell swallowed. He had been at a loss a second ago, now he felt as if he had just been pushed off into an abyss.
"You're in Metropolis. Everything is going to be okay, I just need you to remain calm, okay?" Mitchell said, doing all he could to hide the panic he was feeling.
"You're a policeman," Little Kal pointed out, his expression shifting to surprise and childish awe.
Mitchell smiled, even as he failed to wrap his head around any version of Superman being impressed by him.
"That's right. Can you tell me how you're feeling? Does anything hurt?" Mitchell asked as static from his radio suddenly blipped.
"1243, the Foundation has been contacted and 5643 is enroute," Dispatch asked. "What is 5-5's condition?"
Right. He was about to update them on Superman’s injuries. How on Earth could he explain this?
Mitchell began to move his hand toward his radio to reply when Kal's face suddenly scrunched. And then Kal's hands shot up, covering his ears, as he released a pained gasp.
A ripple of power rushed out, saturated with fear and pain.
"Kal-El, what's wrong?!" Mitchell asked, alarmed as the boy broke into tears.
"It's so loud!" he sobbed.
Mitchell's eyes widened with immediate comprehension. Superhearing! Kal couldn't control it!
"I'll find you some ear protection. It'll be okay," Mitchell assured, hoping he wasn't lying as he backed up and keyed the radio. Kal flinched at the noise as he continued to cry, though he did so as quietly as he could and he brought his knees up to his chest. "Dispatch, he just woke up, but, I don't know how to say this, that Mixy guy turned him into a kid. He can't control his hearing. And he – one moment, 5643 is here."
"10-4," Dispatch acknowledged.
Henderson jumped out of his cruiser, his eyes wide as he rushed forward, hesitating only for a split second before kneeling in front of the weeping child.
"Kal?" Bill asked, no doubt feeling Kal's distorted and troubled aura that was extended from his little form by about fifteen feet.
The boy looked up through tears, his hands still tight over his ears.
"Make it stop," he pleaded, his voice so heart-rendingly small.
"Here," Bill said, promptly taking Kal's hands off his ears and pulling them urgently up toward him.
Mitchell stared as Bill pressed Kal's little but powerful hands against either side of his neck with no hesitation.
"Focus on my heartbeat, Kal," Bill directed in a whisper.
Kal whimpered but clearly did as instructed as he closed his eyes and concentrated.
Everyone was quiet. From the crowd to the surrounding police, they watched as Kal slowly calmed and relaxed. His aura leveled out and pulled back until they couldn't feel it anymore.
"Good job," Bill praised.
Kal smiled and sniffled as he quickly wiped away his tears. "Thank you, sir."
"You're welcome," Bill managed through a strained smile.
Mitchell didn't blame him.
O o O o O
Bill couldn't believe his eyes. He really couldn't.
Kal-El, the man who had saved his little girl and millions – no, billions – of other people, had been magically transformed into a little child–with his uniform conveniently matching his size.
Black hair fanned out messily over his ears, and his dark brown eyes were wide and curious, though red rimmed due to having recently cried. His cheeks still had faint traces of baby fat and his nose was adorably small.
How could this be real?!
But it was.
His friend, the amazing private investigator and superhero, had been turned into a five-year-old by some 5th dimensional nutjob!
"Sir?" a little voice asked.
Bill blinked, suddenly realizing he had been silent and staring way too long.
"I'm sorry. Was lost in thought," Bill explained quickly.
Little Kal grew worried and Bill felt a faint buzz across his skin from Kal's aura but it didn't go further. "Am I in trouble?"
Bill's chest clenched at the nervousness clear on Kal's face.
"No, you're not in trouble, Kal."
Kal relaxed. "Okay. Um, why are you calling me Kal?"
Bill froze, suddenly realizing there was a lot more at stake than he had already thought. He leaned close to Kal and whispered so faintly that even if someone had been right next to them they wouldn't have been able to hear. But he knew Kal could.
"Clark, you must not tell anyone your real name here. You must go by Kal or Kal-El. I will do my best to explain later. But please, your name, where you live, your family . . . it all must be kept a secret," Bill warned as directly and yet as gently as he could. "Do you understand?" he asked, pulling back.
The serious expression that met his was startling, and he could see a glimmer of his old friend in the young face.
Kal nodded.
"Good," Bill said, and he felt oddly reassured as he stood up and held out his hand for Kal to take. "Come with me."
Kal scrambled up, and it was clear he was a little confused by his uniform and the red cape on his shoulders, but he quickly became preoccupied by all the people staring at him from beyond the police line.
He swiftly ducked behind Bill and hid most of his face against Bill's side.
Bill was instantly reminded of his son. Granted, his son wasn't clingy, and rarely sought physical reassurance, but still, his heart stuttered at the abrupt contact. He heard the crowd swoon at the sight, and he desperately hoped no one had a camera. Unfortunately, as soon as he hoped that, there was a camera flash.
"It's alright, they're just curious," Bill said, patting Kal's head and hoping that would suffice.
"Why?" Kal asked, risking a glance up at him.
"Well . . . I'll try to explain in a little bit, but we need to go, okay?" Bill hedged, though he really had no idea what he should tell him. He looked at Mitchell. "Call the Foundation. I'm taking Kal there."
"Yes, sir," Mitchell said, causing Kal's eyes to widen as he looked back at Bill, no doubt noticing Bill's apparent authority over Mitchell.
"Alright. Come on, Kal, we can try calling your family from the Foundation," Bill decided.
Kal perked up and followed him to his car.
O o O o O
Clark buckled his seatbelt as the man who had helped him started the car.
"Uh, mister?" Clark asked from the back seat.
"Yes?" the man asked, looking at him through the rearview mirror.
The man's voice sounded strained. Clark hoped he wasn't upset with him.
"What's the Foundation?" Clark asked.
"Oh. It's, uh, an organization that helps people. Um. Look, Kal." The man turned around and faced him.
Clark shifted a bit at the unfamiliar name.
"Something has happened. Something big, and it's hard to explain, but. . . ." The man closed his eyes and heaved a sigh and a muffled, "Lord, help me."
Clark bit his lip.
The man opened his eyes again. "How old are you?"
"Five and a half," he answered, trying to sound bigger than he was.
That answer didn't seem to make the man happy.
"Okay." The man glanced outside, and Clark followed his gaze.
Police were still keeping people back, but they were excited and appeared quite interested in looking at Clark.
"Okay. I know this probably won't make much sense, but . . . I think it’s best I try to explain before anything else," the man went on, and Clark was reminded of his dad reacting to some new and weird thing he could do.
"Earlier today, you were a grown-up. You helped police stop that truck in the road there," the man said, pointing to the truck that was half burned up. "But a . . . magic person came and made you little again."
Clark blinked. A magic person did what? He had been a grown-up?
He looked down at himself, not knowing what to think. He looked back up at the man who had helped him.
He didn't seem to be lying, but what he was saying didn't make any sense. Granted, nothing was making sense at the moment. How had he gotten here? And what was he wearing?
“You help people with your powers,” the man continued.
Clark froze. “Powers? I don’t have powers!” he said automatically.
“Kal . . . it’s alright. No one knows who you are, so you can use your abilities openly. You and your parents are safe, as long as no one knows your real name.”
Clark’s eyes widened.
That’s why he’s calling him Kal!?
Who was this man? How did he know? And how had he known how to help him? He had done exactly what his dad did whenever he couldn’t stop his ears from listening.
“Who are you?” Clark asked. He felt like he knew him, though he didn’t know how.
“My name is Bill Henderson. I work at the police station. We’re friends and I’m one of the few people who know the whole truth about you. About who you are and everything.”
Clark squinted at him.
He didn’t know how, or why, but he knew . . . he knew Mr. Henderson was telling the truth. He felt . . . safe with him. A lot like he did with his dad.
“Okay,” Clark decided.
“Very good. Now let’s get to the Foundation before someone comes and asks why I’m not driving yet,” he said with a relieved laugh.
Clark smiled back and tried not to feel too concerned about how the people along the streets were craning hard to see him as Mr. Henderson turned back around and began driving after motioning to an officer outside.
Clark looked out the window as they made their way down the busy street, following a police car with their lights on but sirens off. He was grateful for that. Everything was still very loud.
He looked up, finding buildings much bigger and closer together than any he had seen before. So this was a city.
No wonder his dad didn't like them.
'GET OUT OF THE WAY, LADY!' a voice called from somewhere.
HONK, HONK!
Clark flinched and covered his ears.
"KAL? ARE YOU OKAY?" Mr. Henderson asked worriedly as they turned.
MEOW! HISS!
'WOULD YOU LIKE TWO PIZZA SLICES OR ONE?'
CLANG!
He closed his eyes and tried to keep his breathing level as he focused on Mr. Henderson's heartbeat.
"KAL, WE'RE ALM–"
THUMP-THUMP. THUMP-THUMP. THUMP-THUMP. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. He sighed in relief and kept his ears trained on the man’s heart, letting the world outside the car hum past them. He focused on nothing else.
"It's his hearing again," Mr. Henderson said.
Clark wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he knew the car was no longer moving and that someone had opened the door beside him.
"Kal?" Henderson whispered softly, touching his knee.
Clark opened his eyes and lowered his hands from his ears, happy he had control again.
"Hi," he said.
They had stopped at what looked like the back of a building, since the door didn't really look like a main entrance and it all felt more contained. The building had three floors, was pretty big, and looked really sleek. Sort of like a hospital but a bit more fancy. There were also 'S' symbols on the building that matched the 'S' on his tight long sleeve shirt thing.
Henderson smiled and looked relieved. "Hey, buddy, you ready to get out?"
Clark focused on the people who sort of looked like cops at the doors beyond Henderson, but for some reason Clark didn't feel they were actually police, especially since they also had the 'S' symbol on their clothing, only much smaller.
"This is the . . . Foundation?" Clark asked, not sure if he remembered the name correctly.
"That's right. We'll be able to call your parents from here and hopefully figure out how to undo what that magic guy did," Mr. Henderson explained.
Clark hopped out of the car and instinctively took Henderson's hand as one of the men by the door hurried to them.
"Is it okay if I carry you?" Henderson asked.
Clark nodded, not opposed. It would let him see more.
Henderson heaved him up to his hip as he turned to the new man.
"Follow me, Inspector. Mr. Ervin and the others are upstairs. We want to minimize his presence on the first floor. Word hasn't gotten out yet, but we suspect it will soon," the man said, his eyes glancing worriedly at Clark.
Clark hunkered closer to Henderson, not quite afraid but certainly uneasy.
Henderson patted his back. "It's okay," he assured as he gave the Foundation man a nod. "Thanks, Stone."
What a strange but cool name.
"We're going to hurry upstairs, ok?" Henderson forewarned before following Stone in a careful run.
People held open the doors for them as they entered the building and dashed across a wide open room to a stairway. Henderson huffed up the stairs and Clark couldn't help but giggling at the rush.
Neither of his parents had ever run up stairs with him before!
They came to the third floor and Henderson was chuckling himself.
"Liked that, did you?" he asked Clark, carefully setting him down after stepping further into the room.
Clark nodded happily before noticing the other people present. He immediately shuffled close to Henderson's side.
"Kal, this is Mav and Julie. They run the Foundation," Henderson introduced, motioning to two older people with graying hair.
"Hi," Clark greeted shyly.
"Hello, Kal," Mav said, his voice soft, as if he was just as nervous as Clark.
"Oh my!" Julie gasped. "You just can't catch a break can you?" She stepped forward before kneeling down. "Kal?" She looked at him uncertainly before looking up at Henderson in concern when he clearly didn't respond the way she had hoped.
"The . . . Mixy person seems to have completely reverted him to his five-year-old self," Henderson explained. "But I told him we'd call his family. You all can do that, right?"
"Yes, yes, of course!" Mav quickly assured.
Clark beamed in relief. "I can go home then?" he asked expectantly.
"We'll see what we can do," Mav said carefully. "But . . . How much has he been told?"
"I told him no one can know his real name or who his parents are or anything like that. He understands that those secrets keep his family safe," Henderson said, gripping Clark's shoulder firmly, silently reiterating what he had told him in the car. "I also told him he had been a grown up before a magic person made him little again. I believe he understands."
Clark nodded in agreement, glad Henderson wasn't treating him like a baby.
Mav looked relieved but then quickly appeared worried again.
"That's good. I'm glad you understand that, Kal, especially keeping your real name and family a secret. Not even I know who your parents are, even though I've spoken to your mom over the phone a few times," Mav said. "Anyway, I'll get your parents on the phone for you, okay?"
Clark grinned and bounced on his heels. "Thank you, Mr. Mav!"
Mav smiled at him, his eyes gleaming with baffled amusement as he stepped aside.
O o O
Martha was out in town, taking advantage of the sale taking place at the Smallville shops that season with her friends, which gave Jonathan ample opportunity to prepare the potatoes for dinner.
Suddenly, the phone rang.
But not the one on the wall.
Jonathan's heart froze.
It had to be the Foundation. If it was Lois or even Bill, they would have called the normal way.
He answered the special phone tucked behind the family bible at the corner of the kitchen, out of view.
"Hello?" he asked.
'This is Mav from the Foundation. I, uh, am not quite sure how to tell you what's happened, but. . . .'
"What's happened? Is our son okay?" he immediately asked.
'I'll do my best to explain, despite how nonsensical it'll sound. An alien being, claiming to be from the 5th dimension, de-aged Kal-El to, we believe, his five-year-old self. Physically, he appears to be fine, but he doesn't remember anything beyond his current physical age.'
Jonathan blinked.
And blinked again.
"I'm sorry, what?" Jonathan asked.
'Daddy?' a tiny voice called from the other side.
"Son?!" he bellowed.
It had been well over a decade since he had heard that voice, but it was undeniable. The little boy who had called out to him was Clark.
'Here, I'm giving Kal-El the phone now. He'll be alone in a moment. Kal-El, come get me when your father tells you to. I'll be right outside.'
There was some shuffling and then he heard Clark again.
'Daddy?'
"I'm here, son. I'm here. Are you okay?" he asked, glancing toward the door and praying Martha would walk in that moment.
They both needed to be here!
'Y-yeah. I'm okay.' Clark didn't quite sniffle, but Jonathan could hear the emotion in his voice.
"What's happened? Mav told me you're little? You're a little boy again?" he asked, his mind reeling.
'I don't know what happened, Daddy, but I woke up on a road, and there was a truck all burned up! A policeman started talking to me, but then it got all loud, and then Mr. Henderson came and helped me just like you! I listened to his heart and the loudness went away. And then he told me I help people and use my powers but I can't tell anyone my name is Clark and I have to be Kal right now. Why is my name Kal here? He said I'm a grown up but that some Mixy person came and now I'm little again," Clark explained – a bit too quickly for Jonathan to really follow. "I want to go home. It's really loud here. Is this why you don't like cities? I wanna go home."
Jonathan bit his lip, knowing they couldn't really go and pick him up. On top of the need for secrecy, they currently had no means to drive to Metropolis, or really drive at all. The truck was in the shop and they were relying on friends to take them into town. One of Martha's friends had picked her up that afternoon and they suspected the truck would remain in the shop for several more days. Which also meant people would be coming and going from the farm until then. They couldn't have a seemingly random child appear out of nowhere – assuming the Foundation could successfully get him there without anyone finding out. A tall order, due to him not really being himself and unable to change into Clark.
It was highly unlikely Clark would be able to get to Smallville any time soon.
"Clark, I know you want to come home, but that is . . . just not possible right now. Your mom and I will try to figure something out, but I need you to be brave, okay? I know it’s scary and very strange, but you need to stay at the Foundation for now. Do what Mr. Henderson says, okay? He's one of the only people there who knows the whole truth about you. And you can call me and your mom as much as you want, though mom is in town at the moment. We'll call you again as soon as she's back, okay?"
Clark sniffled then. 'Okay. But you'll come here?'
Jonathan covered up a sigh. "Clark, if you
really need us, we'll find a way, but right now, it's best if we stay in Smallville and you at the Foundation. We can't risk people finding out who we are and where we live. You're. . . . " Jonathan weighed his following words.
Hopefully Martha agreed with his approach.
"You're a hero, Clark. A
superhero. You know? You use your powers while as a grown-up superhero, not as Clark. That's why your name is Kal there," he explained.
'
Really!?' Clark gasped, excited.
"Yes. But listen to me, Clark, listen," he stressed, hoping his boy would calm enough to hear him. "You need to remember to be careful. And do what Mr. Henderson says, okay? Listen to him like you listen to me. He helps you do hero work, so until you're a grown-up again, you need to do what he says. And remember what I said about strength."
'Okay, Daddy,' Clark said seriously.
Jonathan hoped he wouldn't regret saying what he had. He knew he had always been very upfront with Clark, even as a young child, but how much could a five-year-old (even an extraordinary one) really understand in this situation?
"I'll call you as soon as Mom gets in, okay? Everything will be alright. Be a good boy, now," he reiterated.
'I will, Daddy,' Clark promised.
"You can take the phone to Mr. Mav now. Love you, son."
'Love you too, Daddy.'
O o O o O
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