Been feeding baby goats that a mama rejected, and having Jonathan and Martha Kent thoughts.
Jon and Martha find the Kryptonian ship in their corn field, but when they open it the baby is not well. He’s traveled light years, and even at the fastest speeds, it was days or even weeks. What fluid was sustaining him has been gone for some time.
They work a farm. They know what a sick baby looks like.
They take the baby inside anyway. It’s far too late for anything to be open, so they break out the milk replacer for the livestock. The bottle they find has had a goat kid sucking on it, but they wash it good, because what other choice do they have?
The baby doesn’t take to the bottle well. He barely eats.
They both know a lack of appetite is a death knell.
“I can’t watch a baby die,” Martha says. She’s done it before. She and Jon struggled to have kids. The closest they got — well. It’s a hard memory for them both.
“I know, love.” Jon’s a good old country boy. He grew up being told it’s a man’s job to take the burden. He’ll take it now. “Go to bed. I’ll stay with him.”
Sure, they both know Martha won’t sleep, but at least she won’t have to see.
Jon takes the wee babe out onto the porch. He tries to poke more milk down him. Rubs his chest, bounces him, pushes the bottle past his lips, every damn thing he can do. The hours are long and hard, but he would never forgive himself if he didn’t try.
The baby continues to fade.
The eastern sky starts to lighten.
“I’m sorry, little fellow,” Jonathan whispers. It’s not long now. He can feel it in his bones. He’s held plenty of animals as they died. He’s waiting for that long last exhale. “Sorry you came all this way and this is your welcome. Can’t even enjoy the sunrise.”
He told himself he wouldn’t cry until the boy was gone. Wasn’t fair, that his last moments would be a man crying instead of comforting him, but Jon does his best to do both at the same time. He cradles the poor little thing even as his shoulders shake.
The sun breaks over the horizon, and light floods the porch. Jon closes his eyes against it and his tears.
It’s a hiccup that is the first sign something changed. Then the wiggling.
Jon nearly drops the baby in shock.
When he looks down, the little boy sure hasn’t died. He’s got this rosy little glow to his cheeks and his eyes are bright. He’s throwing those little hands around like he’s trying to figure out how they work, but he seems to be trying to reach for the sun.
Jon just stares at him until the baby gets frustrated enough with his clumsy limbs that he opens his mouth to tell the world about it.
The baby’s cry is so powerful Jon falls right out of his rocker. It’s a miracle he doesn’t launch the poor thing.
Only thing he can think to do with a screaming baby that’s about to take his eardrums out is shove that bottle right in that open mouth.
The little boy shuts right up and clings to the bottle for dear life as he drinks with a fury.
When Martha comes stumbling out wild-eyed in her jammies, Jon’s sitting on the porch with a grin as bright as the dawn despite the fact his ears are still ringing.
“Turns out he has a good set of lungs.”
theartofmadeline
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romaincrisis
