1999, the turn of the century.
The December sky over Kansas loomed heavy, pressing down on Smallville.
Christmas was nearing, but something else was closing in faster—a blizzard's leading edge.
A biting wind howled, whipping up snow from the ground and pelting it against the truck's windows in a sharp, relentless patter. Even through the glass, you could feel the bone-chilling cold.
But inside the pickup, cranked-up heat kept the icy world at bay, at least for now.
Dio slumped against the window, bored out of his mind. His golden hair swayed slightly with the truck's bumps, his gaze drifting into the darkening sky, eyes half-focused, lost in thought.
Clark sat in the passenger seat, turned slightly to chat with Locke, who was driving.
There was a faint worry in his eyes, hard to miss if you knew him well.
"Is Saraphiel really okay, Uncle Locke?"
"Clark, that's the fifth time you've asked me," Locke said from the driver's seat, his voice steady but amused. "Saraphiel's fine—healthier than most kids, even."
This family, Locke thought, chuckling to himself.
All it took was a couple of sneezes and a few coughs from Saraphiel, and Martha and Jonathan were beside themselves, barely eating or sleeping from worry.
In the end, Locke couldn't say no to them, so he let them take Saraphiel to the clinic in town.
Meanwhile, he headed to the neighboring farm.
"What about Grandpa Bob?" Clark asked, his voice cutting through the engine's hum. "He'll be okay tonight, right? The snow's getting worse."
"Relax, Clark," Locke said, tightening his grip on the wheel, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror where the farm's outline was fading into the storm. "We reinforced Bob's rickety livestock shed, moved his precious vegetable patch to the greenhouse, and doubled up on the insulation."
"His old house is solid as a rock, and that fireplace of his burns hot enough to keep him cozy."
He paused, his tone carrying the quiet confidence of a seasoned farmer. "Old Bob's been wrestling Kansas weather his whole life. This storm won't faze him."
"Rumor has it, back in his younger days, he drove supply runs all the way to Antarctica."
"Whoa," Clark said, nodding.
Made sense. No way a guy with that kind of experience would let a little snow get the better of him.
"Dad," Dio piped up from the back.
"Yeah?"
"The snow's getting heavier."
Locke cracked the window, and sure enough, Dio was right. The weather wasn't playing by the forecast's rules.
They'd only been driving away from Bob's farm for about ten minutes when the real blizzard hit—like a white beast breaking free. Snow didn't just fall; it was hurled by raging winds, slamming into the ground like a barrage of icy bullets.
Visibility dropped to less than thirty feet in minutes.
The world outside turned into a churning, chaotic white void. The truck's headlights cut weak, flickering beams through the swirling snow, barely illuminating the road ahead.
Locke's hands tightened on the wheel, and he nudged the gas pedal a bit harder.
They needed to get out of this open stretch fast, or they'd be buried in snow.
No way was he hiking back home carrying these two knuckleheads.
"This freaking weather…" Dio muttered, scooting closer to the heater vent.
"Dio, you hear that?" Clark asked suddenly.
"What, you think there's gonna be—"
Thud!
Clark shot upright, elbowing toward Dio, who was hogging the warm air.
"Hey, lunkhead! You trying to start something?!" Dio snapped.
Clark's elbow seemed to hit an invisible wall, but he didn't care. His ears twitched slightly, and his blue eyes flashed with urgency.
"Uncle Locke!" he called out, his voice cutting through the engine and the storm's roar. "Listen—really listen!"
Locke's brows furrowed, but he didn't hesitate. His foot slammed on the brake.
The pickup skidded in the thick snow, tires screeching before it lurched to a precarious stop.
The cab went eerily quiet, save for the engine's low growl and the howling wind outside.
"Woo—baa—baa!"
A faint, broken cry for help, mixed with the panicked bleating of sheep, drifted through the storm, torn apart by the wind but just clear enough to reach their ears.
"Over there!" Clark's gaze pierced the snowy chaos, pointing to a shadowy slope on the right side of the road, blurred by the storm.
"Uncle, there's a vehicle! Looks like it's stuck in a ditch!"
Following Clark's line of sight, Locke summoned his platinum binoculars, peering through the swirling snow.
Sure enough, he could just make out a dark, beat-up van tilted into a roadside drainage ditch, one rear wheel sunk deep, the whole thing nearly flipped over.
Next to it, a small figure in a tattered, heavy coat and a wrapped scarf stumbled through knee-deep snow, frantically waving their arms, trying to herd a few terrified sheep toward a small rocky cave.
But more sheep, like white ghosts, were scattering in panic, vanishing into the snowy wilderness.
"This ain't good," Locke muttered, his expression turning grim. "They'll freeze out there—person and sheep alike."
"Stay in the truck, lock the doors, and don't get in the way," he ordered.
Clark and Dio exchanged a glance but nodded.
"I'm gonna check it out. Be good."
Locke shoved the door open, and a blast of frigid air hit him like a punch to the chest.
He glanced back at the two boys sitting obediently in the backseat, then slammed the door shut.
The knife-like wind and snow swallowed his tall frame in an instant.
He trudged through the snow toward the van, the biting cold nearly stealing his breath.
As he got closer, he saw an old man, his face etched with deep wrinkles, his beard and eyebrows crusted with frost, trembling with urgency.
When the old man saw Locke, a faint spark lit up in his cloudy eyes, only to dim again as he glanced at the heavy snowfall.
"Y-young man," he stammered, his voice shredded by the wind, "you stuck in this blizzard too?"
"I'm Henry. Henry Sullivan. Just moved to Smallville not long ago. Anything I can do for you?"
Locke blinked. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"
Henry froze for a second, then sighed. "I was herding my sheep home, but I got lost. Found this cave and blocked the entrance with my van to shelter them, but this damn weather! The wheels slipped, and the van slid right into the ditch."
"The sheep heard the crash and bolted in every direction."
Locke clapped a hand on the old man's stiff, frozen shoulder, his eyes scanning the scattering white dots in the snow.
"Take it easy, Henry. How many sheep you got?"
"T-twelve?" Henry said, confused.
What was this young guy planning?
"Stay here and keep the rest of the sheep together," Locke said. "I'll round up the ones that ran off."
"What?! Young man, it's a blizzard! You should get in the cave with me and the remaining sheep—"
But Locke was already moving, his figure nearly swallowed by the snowy chaos.
Henry, frantic, started to chase after him.
But then—
"Star Platinum!"
A low shout drowned out the storm's roar.
A purple shadow, like lightning tearing through the snow, flashed into existence!
It ignored the raging wind and distance, carrying Locke in a blink to a terrified sheep bolting through the storm. The massive, armored hand moved with impossible gentleness, cradling the frightened animal like a child.
In the next instant, the purple shadow flickered, appearing beside another lost sheep!
Before Henry could even catch his breath or catch up, the sheep were gathered in front of Locke, shivering and bleating, safe from the storm.
"My God…"
Henry crossed himself, his jaw dropping, the cold forgotten as if he'd just witnessed a miracle.
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