Lois & Clark Forums Forums Superman In Other Canon Superman In Other Canon Fanfic Open Arms

I felt odd posting my stories on this Forum since they're AU, but 90sFangirl convinced me to. All my stories are loosely based on L&C, Smallville, and The animated Superman cartoons. I love Superman so much it's hard to write in just one Superman fandom so I borrow snippets from different media (comics included) to create a new universe.



An ear-splitting cry echoes through the entire household. Jonathan Kent let out a weary sigh and rolled over in bed. He took one fortifying breath and started to replay the last Metropolis Game in his head. Football usually calmed him down. But try as he did, he couldn’t drown out Clark’s raucous wails. There was something about Clark’s anguish that set his nerves on edge. He wasn’t crying for lack of nourishment or love. Martha saw to it that he had plenty of warm milk and there was no shortage of cuddles and playtime. Pe[quote][/quote]rsonally, he thought Martha could do with smothering the boy less, but he couldn’t blame her really. Lord knows, the boy needed all the love he could get. Even though Clark seemed to be having a hard time warming up to them.

Like clockwork, each night for the past week Clark worked himself up into a frenzy as soon as the sun set. When they tried to feed him he only cried harder and stared horror-struck at the two of them as if they were strangers (though in a way he supposed they were.) One time Jonathan even tried to take him for a stroll out in the fields and the sight of the moon offended him. Martha’s words of comfort fell on deaf ears. Jonathan wagered it wasn’t the voice Clark was used to hearing before bedtime.

Jonathan had only heard one other baby cry with such anguish before Lana Lang, the night her parents died. She had stayed with them till the Social Worker arrived. That had been Clark’s first night with them; somehow they managed to land themselves with two grieving orphans that fateful night. Fortunately, Clark had been too distracted by his new friend to worry about his parents’ absence, - a small blessing in disguise. His only concern that night had been to wipe away Lana’s tears.

He feared Clark was searching for the familiar faces of his parents. His parents abandoned him in a spacecraft for no reason. Oh, by God, he hoped they had a good reason. He shook his head. He couldn’t bear to think of them. It was a reminder that, no matter how much Martha and he grew to care for the boy, he wasn’t theirs. A reminder, that somewhere in the vast galaxy, a couple, not them, had lost their baby boy.

He took one last fortifying breath and climbed out of bed, and rubbed his tired eyes. Slowly he made his way downstairs to the den that had been temporarily transformed into a nursery. The sofa was buried underneath a pile of toys, and more baby blankets than they could possibly need . . . but Clark seemed to prefer the soft felt blankets to the one-piece pajamas they had bought for him.

Martha strolled back and forth in front of the fireplace, a small bundle concealed in her arms. Clark’s tiny face was scrunched up in utter dismay, his dark curls plastered across his sweaty brow. His fist was wrapped around Martha’s thumb so tightly, that her finger was turning purple. In his other hand, he held onto the orange crystal they found inside the ship with him. Jonathan wondered if that crystal was what passed for toys in Clark’s past life.
Martha glanced up and met his gaze. In the dim light of the fire, Martha looked like an angel of the Lord, a halo of light framing her soft form. Twin rivers of tears slid down her rosy cheeks. “I’m sorry baby,” she whispered, cradling Clark towards her. Her warm eyes never left Jonathan, but he knew those words weren’t meant for him.

Clark took one look at him, the imposter, and roared anew. “Hush now my little star sweeper, you’ll hurt yourself,” she said in a singsong voice. Jonathan very much doubted the boy was in any danger of harming himself. The first time he saw Clark bleed, he was surprised his blood was red, or that he bled at all, to begin with. There was nothing peculiar about him, besides the manner, they found him, and well . . . the occasional bout of strength that didn’t befit a three-five-month-old child. It was hard to tell how old he was.

He knew Martha well enough to know she was blaming herself for Clark’s discomfort. He knew her as well as the worn paths on his land. A thousand thoughts were swimming through her mind, none good. If only she had sung a different song for him - if only she had fed him earlier - if only she were his birth mother.
“In time, he’d grow used to his new surroundings,” Jonathan rested a hand on the small of her back. “All we can do is hold him, and let him know he’s loved,” he brushed a loose curl out of Clark’s pasty face. He hiccupped and continued to wail, his face turning red.

Martha choked on another sob. “Why did they have to leave him?” She hugged Clark closer to her.

It was a dangerous question to ask. His brother’s warning rang in his head, ‘He could be a scout for an alien invasion.’ At the time Harry had been joking, but Jonathan couldn’t help wondering. Clark was an amiable baby. Early on he showed empathy towards all living things - may that be a distraught baby girl or critter trapped under a tractor. But he was also stronger than your average human baby. He lifted an entire car up like it was a beachball. It was a miracle Clark hadn’t hurt anyone yet, his parents’ fingers excluded. He dreaded to think of what his fate would have been if anyone else had found him.

Parents. That single word sent a hurricane of feelings through him; pride, fear, awe, excitement, the list was endless. Ultimately no words could possibly describe the magnitude of this moment. He had a son. After countless sleepless nights and ill-fated appointment after appointment, he was finally here. He couldn’t have loved that little tyke more if he were his own flesh and blood.

“I can’t imagine willingly parting with such an angel,” Martha bent down and kissed Clark’s moppy forehead, her tears mingling in with his own. His pain was their pain.

“Their loss is our gain,” he grinned at her. “Handy to have E.T. to help around on the farm,” he smiled at his wife. “Give my poor ol’ back a rest.” He was only half-joking.

Martha was not amused. “He is not your slave Jonathan,” She tucked the blanket tighter around him.

His heart skipped a beat once he realized it was the same scarlet blanket they found him wrapped in that fatal night when so many lives were lost, and their dearest wish came true. A black diamond with fish swimming inside was etched in the center of the blanket. If he squinted the symbol took on the shape of an ‘s,’ but he wagered that was his primitive mind trying to make sense of an alien symbol he couldn’t process.

“He’d have to learn our ways . . .” Jonathan smirked. “And part of being human is having an overbearing father that you buck heads with at every turn.”
“Hush now!” Martha swatted his hand away. “Clark is not you!” It could be his mind playing tricks on him, but he swore the little tyke was slowly calming down. Those big blue eyes watched the two of them as keenly as a tennis match unfolding in front of him.


“Pray that he isn’t for both our sakes,” Jonathan said. “He could live without my temper.”


Martha laughed and the sound sent a spark of joy through him. “Or your stubbornness,” she teased.


“Or your ear for gossip.”

Martha’s smile faltered; she opened her mouth to retort, and quickly closed it again. She returned her attention to the fussing child in her arms and sighed heavily. His wails had quieted down to a soft keening whimper, but the poor boy seemed at war with himself.

“Do you think something happened to them?” Martha finally voiced the question that had been on both their minds since Clark found them.
Jonathan sighed, his jolly good mood stamped clean out of him. “I don’t know, most likely.” Martha glanced his way, a silent question in her gaze. Do you think they’d come back for him?

As morbid as it was, a part of him wished his birth parents were truly dead. He couldn’t bear to part with the little tyke. He had crawled his way into his heart, and Jonathan felt an intense connection with the boy, which he couldn’t quite put into words. He knew without a doubt that he would protect, and shelter Clark, till his very last breath. He knew it was selfish of him, but he couldn’t bear the thought of sharing him with anyone else. Not yet, at least.
“Why don’t you get some rest?” Jonathan offered, reaching out for Clark with open arms.

“No I can’t,” Martha sniffed. “He needs me.”

“You’ll be no good to him if you’re dead,” he admonished her. “We’re in this together. I’ve got him.” Jonathan took the boy into his arms. The poor boy was shivering, unable to contain his trembling fingers. Jonathan felt Clark’s heartbeat against his own, an erratic pulse that couldn’t seem to quiet.

Clark pouted fiercely and whimpered as if in physical pain, but his tears had all but vanished. Jonathan did his best to entertain the baby with funny faces, and an impromptu game of peekaboo, but Clark was not amused. He eyed Jonathan as if he were a clown with three heads, each more hideous than the last.

Reluctantly Martha lay down on the sofa and closed her eyes. Bags the size of Olympus hugged the bottom of her eyes and her fiery red hair was a storm cloud of disarray, but he had never seen her more beautiful. As she lay there a faint smile of contentment played across her face. Clark had come into their lives suddenly like a raging tsunami and turned their little Hamlet upside down, but Jonathan wouldn’t have it any other way. All the sleepless nights and broken furniture were worth it so he could see his wife happy once again. He hadn’t realized how much he longed for a little person till he was here. The empty house seemed so cold without him. He couldn’t bear to ever part with Clark. It would probably kill him.

“Just you and me now kiddo,” Jonathan said conversationally. He opposed baby talk with a fierce passion and refused to stoop to that level. “You’ll be a man before you know it,” Jonathan said out loud, with a small amount of grievance. Once he’s a man, he’ll have to let him go - let him go and allow him to make his mark on the world without him. There would come a day when Clark wouldn’t need him anymore.

“No point in sugar-coating it.” He doubted Clark understood a word of what he said, but all the same, the boy watched him intently with a grim expression that did not belong on a baby’s face. Those deep, unearthly blue eyes seemed to see right through Jonathan. No judgment, but a thirst to learn how this new world worked.
“The adult world is a messy place. You shouldn’t be in any rush to get there.” Clark stuck his thumb into his mouth and started to suck on it. Jonathan couldn’t help smiling at the sight. “But, I wager you’ll be as impatient as me son, maybe more so,” he combed his fingers through Clark’s windswept curls. “A word of caution, slow down and enjoy the little things in life . . . you only live once, make it count.”

After a long time of endless rambling on Jonathan’s part, Kent Junior finally fell asleep to the sound of Journey - a fact Jonathan took no small amount of pride in. He’d be damned if the boy was not cultured properly. He’ll make a rock star out of Clark yet.
Gently as to not wake him, he set him on the couch, cushioned between two fluffy pillows. He was such a small baby, weighing shy over eleven pounds. And yet, he was able to crawl and sit up on his own with no problem, a fact that proved worrisome. It got him into loads of trouble. Martha nearly had a heart attack when he crawled into the oven looking for a snack.

Suddenly the backdoor flew open and Harry Kent dashed into the den. “They’re coming!” he cried. “Hide him now!”
“Whom?”

“Government agents!” His brother flew into action, collecting any evidence of the crash. He shoved the orange crystal - that had brought such solace to Clark - into his pocket. The scarlet blanket was ripped off Clark and tucked into a trunk under the floorboards. Jonathan reached over and grabbed the disc with the undefinable hieroglyphs off the coffee table and secured it in the safe in the bedroom.
The motion caused Clark to wake up and he began to holler once more. Martha was at Clark’s side in a second and she scooped him up into her arms, her eyes wild with fear. “What’s wrong?”

“They have Clark’s ship!” Harry said in a rush. “They have the ship and they are combing the town looking for him!”
“Heaven help us,” Martha covered her mouth with one hand. “I can’t lose him!” she hiccuped. Clark sensed her distress and cried even harder, buckets of tears streaming down his pale face.

“AMA!” Clark screamed, reaching toward Martha. It was the first time Clark had uttered anything coherent than a generic baby gurgle, but Jonathan was too distressed to appreciate the moment. It couldn’t be as bad as Harry suggested. It couldn’t.

“Well, they never saw what was inside the ship,” he reasoned, the seed of an idea growing in his mind. “S’far they know Clark is our son.”
“They won’t buy that for a second!” Harry said. “You’ve got to go now before . . .”

But it was too late. A thunderous knock shook the door. “Agent Trask of Beauro 38,” a brusque voice said from the other side of the door. “Open up at once!”