Disclaimer: Marvel and DC and those folks are owners of these characters, I'm just borrowing, warping, and rearranging their histories, and thusly personalities and relationships, for my own nefarious enjoyment. Everything I know about Superman comes from the cartoon, vague recollections of the movies, and one novel many, many years ago, so apologies for anything blatantly wrong. If there is more than mild swearing, I'll #(*$#. Also, I don't do children very well, so just use your imagination and come along for the ride.
They sat in the office, still waggling toys and cookie chunks over little Clark, shock plastered across their faces. "Yes, congratulations. If everything goes well, in another eight months, little Clark will have a little baby brother or sister!"
"Oh, my heavens."
"He's beautiful!" Edna reached out to take her newborn son from the nurse, and unwrapped the blanket to see all of him. Fingers and toes wiggled up at her, grabbing her fingers and hair and pulling. "And strong!"
"His hands-" Henry sounded worried. He'd been worried for the last eight months about the radiation and what it might do to their boy. They were larger than Clark's hands, although not as strong.
"He's beautiful and he's whole, Henry. Let's name him Henry McCoy. Henry Phillip, for my father. Your father got the first grandson named after him."
"Henry Phillip McCoy. He is beautiful, Edna."
"That's IT!" Edna grabbed the two toddlers by the back of their shirts and marched them toward the kitchen door. "You two know that catch is not an indoor sport. Outside, and stay in the yard where I can watch you. Clark, Hank, it's no dessert if you can't keep out of trouble through to suppertime." She ladled the baseball up out of the pot, wiped the gravy off, and handed it to them. Two- and three-year-olds didn't usually play catch. She was glad they were so strong and energetic (Clark a little more so) and coordinated for their ages, and smart (Henry a little more so, for his age). She surely was blessed with two such wondrous boys, but other mothers didn't have to worry about broken furniture on top of broken windows.
"Can we watch turtles at the pond, mom?" Clark's t-shirt was on crooked. She fixed it and pulled his dark hair out of his eyes.
"I like turtles! Box turtles, snapper turtles, tor-toesies?" Two pairs of bright blue eyes begged up at her. She bent to tie Hank's shoe, and smiled.
"Not until after dinner, when your father can go with you. Or ... when I take the meatloaf out, if you're very good and there's enough time."
Two smiles, and thudding little sneakers down the wooden porch stairs. About two minutes passed, then, "Hank, you think she's done yet?"
"Nope. Meatloaf takes foreeeeever."
"OK." She smiled, hearing the scrabbling under the sink window. She looked up from stirring the potato salad. Hank's fingers reached the edge of the sill and hung determinedly. She thanked God again for making boys, especially hers, rough and tumble enough that a mother could let them explore just a little and still get dinner made. And then Hank's blue little eyes peeped at her. "Hi, mom."
"Hello, Hank. Careful now. Get down off your brother or you two might fall and hurt yourselves. "
"Nope." They tumbled around each other like circus gypsies, really, and hardly ever fell. Clark was indestructible, as far as they could tell, and Hank just rolled away, trying to be as brave as his brother and not show how his skinned elbows and knees stung. Which was getting gratefully less often. "C'mon, show her, Clark!"
And then Hank rose, his naked feet clutching his brother's arms just below the wrists that held his knees, and Clark's eyes peeped over the sill. It wasn't like he had climbed against the siding, they just went straight up.
Edna kept smiling at them. She was not going to keep her boys from being anything less than their amazing bests, just because their antics sometimes terrified her. "Very good, Clark! Now put your brother down and come inside, would you? I need some help stirring the potato salad and the gravy."
Once shoelaces were straightened out, and they were stirring as carefully as is possible for boys under the age of five, Edna turned the temperature down on the meatloaf to warming, and turned to her boys. "Clark, will you show me how you lifted Hank so high?"
"I held on all upright!" Hank protested.
"And you did that really well. You didn't even tilt! You two are my little acrobats, you know that?"
"I lifted, Mom. I lifted Hank, then I lifted me."
"Show me, would you two?" She leaned against the sink and watched, then kept leaning against the sink and trying not to look shocked as Clark's feet wobbled a foot off the ground, then higher. Her boy could fly.
"Very good!" She grabbed one boy on each hip and stomped them to the back door. "You two sit on the porch and let Mommy hang her apron up. We have just enough time to watch the turtles a little before your father gets home, and Mommy wants to walk a little and get some air."
They were in a frog and turtle stage, both of them.
"Tortoises. But the tortoises in your book don't live near here, Hank. Those really big tortoises live in the ocean."
"Tortoises, tortoises, big ocean tortoises!" Hank spun, then grabbed her leg, thoroughly pleased with his new word. Clark did a somersault and landed on his back, pulling his legs and arms in and stretching his neck as far as he could. "Uh-oh! Stuck turtle, Mom!"
She smiled and grabbed one ankle and spun him a little, then picked him up.
Continued in Chapter Three