And that wasn't even the end of it!
The figure didn't pause for a second, stepping right up to the van stuck deep in the snowy ditch.
Under Henry's disbelieving stare, Locke bent down, his hands gripping the cold, heavy chassis like the steadiest hydraulic jack.
"Hey!"
A low grunt of effort cut through the howling snowstorm.
The heavy van, trapped in the muddy snow, was lifted clean off the ground!
As if moving a toy, Locke effortlessly hoisted it from the ditch and set it firmly back on solid ground by the road. The whole process was so smooth, the vehicle barely shook.
"God Almighty…"
Old Henry muttered, his legs giving out.
He collapsed to his knees in the snow, staring at Locke with a dazed look in his eyes. "Are you here to take me away?"
"God's not helping you out right now," Locke said, wiping snow from his face and pulling the old man to his feet. "Come on! While the sheep are still here, let's reinforce that pen of yours. That flimsy thing won't hold up much longer!"
His sharp gaze swept over the rickety fence groaning in the wind at the cave's entrance, then locked onto a stout oak branch snapped by the storm and some tangled barbed wire scattered nearby.
Braving winds strong enough to knock a grown man over, the two set to work fortifying the barrier outside the cave.
Locke dragged the heavy branch to the cave's entrance with his bare hands, planting it deep into the frozen ground as a support post. Then, with deft strength, he twisted the loose barbed wire back into place, securing it to the branch and the remaining planks.
Henry, giving it everything he had, handed over tools and steadied boards.
Together, they worked in perfect sync through the raging blizzard, and bit by bit, a makeshift but sturdy windbreak took shape before their eyes.
The sheep pen was finally secure, letting them both breathe a little easier.
But then—
One of the ewes in the flock suddenly started bleating frantically.
"Baa—!"
Her cries were desperate, and she kept ramming her head against the newly reinforced fence.
Henry followed the sound, his weary face twisting with sorrow and concern. "Oh… it's Sarah… her lamb must've gotten lost in the chaos or buried in the snow…"
He stared out into the blinding, all-consuming snowfield, his eyes dimming.
"In this weather, I'm afraid…"
"Baa—!"
A faint, tender, yet unmistakably clear bleat suddenly pierced through the storm from the opposite direction Henry was looking!
Henry whipped his head around.
His cloudy eyes lit up with disbelief!
Through the swirling snow, a figure emerged, moving carefully.
The little boy's curly hair and eyebrows were caked with glistening frost, but his bright blue eyes shone with focus.
Wrapped tightly in his thick coat was a small, trembling bundle, struggling faintly.
Half a step behind him, a blond teenager followed, brows furrowed in mild annoyance but clearly unwilling to let the younger boy go it alone.
"Little… Bobby!"
Henry's eyes welled up as he stumbled forward.
To him, those two small figures in the blizzard looked like they'd sprouted pure white wings of snow!
He dropped to his knees, praying aloud: "God, you didn't just save your faithful servant…"
"You sent angels to bring back your lost lamb, didn't you?"
---
Back at Locke's farm, warmed by the roaring fireplace, the biting cold was locked outside.
Platinum Butler's service was flawless, zipping between the kitchen and bathroom at a speed that defied reason.
Steaming hot water filled the bathtub, clean thick clothes were neatly stacked on the bathroom rack, and blankets and mugs of steaming ginger tea appeared on the living room coffee table almost instantly.
Under such efficient and thoughtful care, old Henry's purple, frozen limbs slowly thawed, sensation returning as the deathly pallor on his face gave way to a faint, weak flush.
Wrapped in a thick wool blanket, he sank into the wide, cozy rocking chair by the fireplace, the orange glow dancing across his weathered face.
"Thank… thank you… Mr. Kent, and the kids…"
His voice was still hoarse.
But the heavy gratitude practically spilled from his teary, cloudy eyes.
"You saved my life… and my sheep… They're the only thing my wife left me…"
His voice choked up again.
"Don't mention it, Henry," Locke said from the chair across from him, waving it off with a gentle tone. "You moved to Smallville, so we're neighbors now. Helping each other out is just what neighbors do."
"You feeling okay now? Warming up?"
"First thing's first, we need to call your family. They're probably worried sick in this storm."
At the mention of family, the tears in Henry's eyes were replaced by a surge of anxious guilt.
It was his stubborn idea to take the sheep out today. If he hadn't—
Henry sat up straighter, the blanket slipping off without him noticing.
"You're right, you're right! My head's not on straight!"
He smacked his forehead in frustration and reached for the old-fashioned phone on the side table.
Ding~
The call connected, and a weary woman's voice came through.
"Hello? This is Moira Sullivan, who's this?"
"It's me, Moira," Henry said, his voice catching slightly.
"Oh my God! Dad!"
The woman's voice shot up, brimming with panic. "Where are you?! Are you okay?! Thank God! Gabe and Sam are losing their minds! They've been driving around in this storm looking for you for two hours! Your phone wasn't going through—I was about to call the police!"
Her voice broke with sobs, the fear she'd been holding back bursting out. "If something happened to you, how would we get through this Christmas…"
She trailed off, choking on her words.
Hearing his daughter-in-law's tearful voice and knowing his family was braving the blizzard to find him, Henry's eyes reddened, tears pooling in the wrinkles of his face.
But he held it together, forcing his voice to sound steady and strong to keep her from worrying more. "Don't cry, Moira, sweetheart, don't cry! Listen, I'm fine! Not a hair out of place! And…" he emphasized, his voice thick with relief, "even the sheep! Not a single one's missing—they're all okay! Don't worry, kid, everything's alright!"
As he listened to the sobs on the other end, Henry took a deep breath, as if trying to soak in the warmth of the air and the comfort of the moment.
His gaze drifted up, past the flickering fire, landing on the steady, mountain-like figure across from him.
Mr. Kent was gently poking at the logs with fire tongs—making the flames burn brighter, warmer.
On the other side, the curly-haired boy carefully carried over a steaming mug of cocoa, setting it gently on the table beside Henry with a shy smile.
An indescribable warmth flooded the old man's heart.
He made the sign of the cross over his chest, then spoke into the phone with a solemnity he'd never used before, each word deliberate and devout:
"Because today… 'God' saved me."
Henry's tone was heavy with reverence.
"God?!"
Moira's shocked exclamation came through the line, clearly thrown by her father's unusual choice of words.
"Yep!"
Henry nodded vigorously, as if she could see him, his warm gaze settling on Clark. The boy was setting the hot cocoa down, his face lit with that shy smile.
The steam from the cocoa stung Henry's nose, and his voice softened even more, tinged with reverence as he added:
"And…"
"Two 'Mr. Angels.'"