A/N: Once upon a time, in a magical land known as Tumblr, a gal named slagheapwhore and another gal called Janerey came up with an idea: The Hunger Games's Peeta Mellark as Superman and Katniss Everdeen as Lois Lane. The fandom exploded! "Who would write such a thing?", the fans cried. "We volunteer as Tributes!" responded megsonfire and Baroness Kika. With the eternal wisdom of sohypothetically as Mentor and Beta, and pronetoobsess who created the image that turned a vision into a visual reality, and despite the real life distractions of graduations and weddings getting in the way of earnest, dedicated ficcing, a story about Peeta Mellark, Man of Steel, was hatched.

Please enjoy.

Love, Meggie and Kika

Prologue

Morgantown, West Virginia, 1989

"Go ahead and head on out, Sae. I've got it from here."

"I don't mind staying to..."

Ezekiel Mellark puts his hands on the counter in front of him with a light slap, making the woman startle. It's already an odd enough sight to see him in his black suit and his baker's apron. Him snapping is an entirely new thing; but then, the man did just bury his wife this morning.

"I've got it, Sae. Go on home, I'll see you in the morning," he repeats, his temper back in check. The woman nods curtly and files out, leaving her own apron on the hook by the door.

After he's set the last of the loaves for the next morning on the back counter to begin their slow proof, Ezekiel heads out to the pasture in the back, not bothering to change out of his dress shoes. If Armarna were still here, she'd have given him all manner of playful grief for the state he's in. If Armarna were here, she'd slop the pigs and feed the horses herself. If Armarna were here, he wouldn't be in this get-up to begin with. But instead, Armarna Bennett Mellark is in her coffin, six feet underground, with only the worms and the bodies of the other victims of the freak meteor shower to keep her company.

Ezekiel goes through his evening tasks robotically, not bothering to count how many buckets full of water he tosses in the troughs until they begin to overflow. Numbness permeates his brain. He misses her; he misses her laugh, her smell, her hair, her everything. He wasn't the sort made to be a widower. He was supposed to go first; he was ten years her senior, after all. He was always ready to go first.

He goes into the stables to tend to the horses next, still thoroughly stuck in his stupor. It's the sight of a small, naked child perched on top of one of the gates of the horse stalls that snaps him out of it. Now that Armarna is gone, he has this whole property to himself. There should be no one else here, let alone a child.

"What the...?" Ezekiel says aloud. Without warning, the child spins around on its behind and looks straight at him. Tiny pink lips turn upwards in a mischievous smile. Piercingly blue eyes seem to glint in the overhead light of the stable house. The child's hair is a little matted, but the curls flow all the way down past an already strong jaw, practically to the shoulders. Ezekiel notices a moment later the equipment between the child's legs—it's a little boy.

"Who are you?" Ezekiel asks the boy. The boy just grins at him that much wider. "Are you…where are your parents, son? And where did your clothes go?"

The little boy shrugs, and turns his attention back towards the horse in the stable. This one—Malia, Armarna had named her years back—was heavy with her first foal of the spring. She'd be delivering any day now. Ezekiel had never birthed a horse without Armarna's help before. Malia the horse walks up to the boy's perch and shoves her snout at his tiny chest. The boy's little hands grasp onto her mane, but don't quite catch all the way. In his exuberance, the child pitches backwards and Ezekiel barely has time to zoom forward and catch him before he falls flat on his back on the hard stone floor.

"Careful, little one! Malia's quite grumpy these days…have you ever been around a horse before?" Ezekiel asks him as he shrugs off the overshirt he wears and slings it around the boy's shoulders to cover him up. The boy looks like a ragamuffin, but smiles up at him all the same. His eyes seem jubilant and playful. This child can't possibly be more than three, maybe four years old. He's not dirty the way one would expect a child of his age to be when he randomly turns up in a stranger's barn.

"We should find your parents, son," Ezekiel says to him, hoping this might coax the child into finally breaking his silence. "Where do you live? Do you know your address? I'm sure your parents must be worried sick about you."

The boy's eyebrows furrow. Ezekiel squats down in front of him, buttoning a few of the buttons and rolling up the sleeves so the boy's hands are free.

"I live on Fox Ridge Road. That's where we are right now. What street do you live on? It's okay, buddy. You can tell me. Your mama and daddy must be worried about where you've run off to. I need to take you home so they don't worry about you, okay?"

The boy shakes his head, causing his curls to bounce against his rosy cheeks.

"My name is Ezekiel. What's your name? Maybe I know your daddy…do you and your mother come into my bakery sometimes? Is that how you found your way out here?"

The boy seems all the more confused with every word Ezekiel says. He holds up his hand towards the older man and Ezekiel takes it automatically. He leads the boy towards the barn door and points out to the west pasture, where the sun is slowly sinking past the rolling hillside. "Is that the way towards your home, son? Do you live on a big farm like this one? Or do you live in a little apartment building? I can't help you unless you talk to me, kiddo, and tell me where you live. Can you remember anything about it? Anything about your house? What are your parent's names?"

The boy pulls on Ezekiel's hand and together they pad through the fields beyond. It strikes Ezekiel that the boy isn't wearing any shoes, and probably shouldn't be walking through grass and dirt without something protecting his feet.

Didn't stop him from finding his way into my stable, he supposes. The boy's stubby legs are surprisingly agile, and they move quickly towards the fence at the far back of the farm boundaries. Beyond it is a heavily wooded area where wolves are known to prowl. This is the reason Ezekiel and Armarna always keep the pigs and horses in well secured stables and pens, and one of the reasons they've never had any luck keeping chickens or lambs; too tempting for the local wildlife. And Ezekiel doesn't have the heart to keep a gun on his property to shoot the invaders.

"Son, no one lives in these woods. Come on, it'll be dark soon, your parents will be worried sick…"

The boy shakes his blonde curls again and tugs fiercely on Ezekiel's hand. For such a small child, his grasp is forceful and strong. He can't help but follow him as they step through the back gate and trudge ever deeper into the woods.

They walk for several long minutes. Ezekiel knows it'll be dark soon. He's immediately regretting that he'd gone out to complete his chores still in his clothes from the funeral, because his shiny patent leather suit shoes provide little traction on the uneven terrain. How this boy is walking so quickly with nothing covering his feet is baffling. He seems to know exactly where he's going though, so Ezekiel doesn't question him. Even if he did, this mute child wouldn't answer anyway.

Perhaps his parents were in the woods hunting? Perhaps one of them is injured…oh Lord, is this boy about to show me the bodies of his dead relatives, expecting I can bring them back somehow? This is the…

Ezekiel's brain stops when a large misshapen piece of black metal suddenly looms in front of him. Or at least, Ezekiel thinks it's metal. When he was a boy, he'd been a fan of comic books and science fiction. He'd dressed up as Captain James T. Kirk on more than one Halloween. He'd by and large grown out of it by the time he hit his 20s, and now that he's pressing 40, he knows his obsession with all things supernatural or fictitious has well and truly waned. But that didn't stop Ezekiel mind from wandering towards the realm of the impossible as he looks at this hunk of steel before him, the same thing the little boy who'd pulled him along is padding gently towards.

"No, don't touch that, you don't…!" Ezekiel cries out to him, but the little boy's hand is already pressing up against the side of the…whatever it is. A soft orange glow permeates the area for just a minute, then fades as the hunk of steel creaks and groans and opens itself up.

The little boy once again beckons him closer. Enchanted by memories of his favorite comic books and alien television shows, Ezekiel can't help but stumble forward and crouch down in imitation of how the boy is. The child's tiny hand points inside. The man can barely see the interior in the waning light, but what he can make out amazes him. Tiny orange and green markings in no language he's ever seen before. Nothing that looks even remotely…

…Human.

Dear Lord, Ezekiel thinks. This can't be real. This is a dream. Some crazy dream because I drank too much after the funeral and passed out. There's no way this is real.

Ezekiel does the only thing he can think of: he stands up straight and tall and smacks himself in the face. The sound reverberates through the trees and he has to contort his face in a thousand different ways to make it stop smarting. He doesn't know his own strength, apparently.

"Ow," he says aloud.

A lilting giggle comes from the throat of the little boy standing next to him. Well, at least he's amused, Ezekiel thinks.

It's impossible, to be sure, but the notion bears asking. He crouches once again in front of the boy and takes a delicate hold of his small shoulders.

"Son…is this contraption your home?"

The boy shakes his blonde curls.

"But it…it belongs to you?"

The boy nods.

"Okay…so where are your parents? Older people, like me? You must belong to someone," Ezekiel says.

The little boy chews his bottom lip for a minute, clearly considering how to answer this question. He cranes his neck upward to the quickly darkening sky and studies it for a second. Then he raises his tiny fist up above his head with his index finger pointed out.

"Heaven? Are your parents in heaven?" Ezekiel asks. Or are they from the heavens? he adds quietly to himself, knowing how ludicrous the idea is.

The boy shrugs.

"Let me ask you this, then…where are you from?"

The boy raises his hand again, the same index finger pointed upwards.

Holy Mary Mother of…

"You…you're from…up there?" Ezekiel stammers, looking up at the skies.

The boy nods his head quickly, his curls bouncing into his eyes. Ezekiel rubs his hands over his face. This can't be real…this can't be real…

Too soon it'll be dark enough that finding his way back to the farm will be treacherous at best. And he can't just leave this little boy, this innocent little thing in the woods. Who knows how long he's been out here to begin with?

"I'm going to…Christ, son, I have no idea what I'm going to do. But I'll tell you what I want—a big glass of scotch. Although who knows if that's even something that exists where you're from," he tells the child. He sighs and extends his hand back to him. "The barn isn't comfortable. And maybe the inside of that crazy thing might be, but…come on. Come with me, okay?"

The boy doesn't hesitate to place his small hand inside Ezekiel's large one, and together they trudge back towards the farm. As the night creeps in, the boy lags behind a little, perpetually looking over his shoulders and gurgling tiny, almost frightened sounds from the back of his throat.

"Are you…you don't like the dark, do you?" Ezekiel asks him. The boy merely blinks at him. "I didn't like it when I was young either. And it gets awful dark out here. Can I…here, I'll carry you. I know the way back from here better."

The boy tenses as the man swoops him up into his arms and props him against his hip, but after a few strides, the child seems to enjoy this new vantage point. Or maybe just not having to walk in his bare feet. He grips onto the man's shirt as they walk, his golden crown of curls pressed against Ezekiel's chest. He feels himself unconsciously hold the little thing closer, as if he's protecting him from something.

Maybe I am, he supposes.

The sky is pitch black by the time he gets back to the house, and he's glad he's left the floodlights shining on the sides of the barn and main house. He finally sets the child down when he opens the back door and crosses the threshold.

"Have you…are you hungry?" Ezekiel asks. The little boy looks baffled by the question.

Maybe they don't eat food on other planets. Christ, do I honestly believe this kid is from another…never mind.

He guides the boy gently towards the kitchen table and surveys the numerous Tupperware containers that litter his counter top. Widower or not, it seemed silly to him that the people at Armarna's wake had brought so much food for him—he's a baker, for Christ's sake. He pops open one of the long flat dishes and peers inside. Hummus and pita bread…it probably should have been refrigerated, but he supposes he'll survive. He plucks a couple of apples from the fruit bowl in the counter and places them on the table in front of the boy. He carefully tears up a piece of the pita bread and dips it in the hummus before offering it to the boy, who recoils in confusion.

"It tastes good, I think. The bread does, anyway…" Ezekiel reassures the child before popping the proffered piece into his own mouth. He was right about the bread anyway. The hummus, however, really should have been refrigerated. "Here, try the bread at least. I'm sure I have some cheese we can put on it instead."

The boy takes a bit of the pita between his thumb and forefinger and holds it in front of his face. Ezekiel puts another piece of it in between his lips and chews it slowly. The boy imitates him. Ezekiel swallows. The boy swallows. Then a happy grin spreads across the child's face.

"There's even better bread I know how to make other than pita bread…but pita is usually pretty good," he tells the child as he slices into the apples. The boy's tiny hand reaches out for another piece of the flat bread; by the time Ezekiel has sliced the apples into wedges, the boy is happily chewing his third piece of the stuff.

"Armarna liked the flat bread I make. But pita was too dry without something else mixed into the dough for her taste. So I didn't make it much. But I bet if I did make it again, it'd be better than this stuff," he tells the child before pushing the apple slices towards him. The boy curiously pops one of the wedges into his mouth. Another huge smile spreads across his features. Ezekiel can't help but smile back at him. "There's plenty of food, son…whatever you'd like on that counter we can crack into."

So he pops the tops on several of the containers. The boy takes little samplings of many of the dishes, savory and sweet alike. But always his tiny fingers seem to seek out the remaining pieces of the dry flat bread, and his smile gets broader and broader until there is no more of the stuff left.

It takes a while, but eventually the little boy leans back in his chair and licks the tips of his fingers happily. Ezekiel figures it means the tyke has eaten his fill. He's not exactly sure what to do with him next. He and Armarna tried for years to get pregnant with absolutely no luck, and both being only children, neither had any nieces or nephews. There's surely no clothing in the house that could clothe this child and the white dress shirt sleeves keep coming undone around his hands.

"Do you...know how to speak my language, son?"

The boy looks at him curiously, like this wasn't a question he thought to answer.

"But you can understand me?"

The boy nods and smiles at him happily.

"I don't know where you came from. Or how. Or why. I want to help you find your family, though. Did they...come here with you?"

The boy shakes his head and once again points at the sky.

"Oh. I see." In truth, the boy's inference only makes Ezekiel more confused. Why on earth would anyone send such a small child, so innocent and defenseless, someplace so foreign? To what end would that be necessary or prudent? What does any of this mean? And why, deep down in the pit of his stomach, does he feel the intense need to watch over this boy, make sure he's safe and taken care of?

He can see the little boy's eyes begin to droop. Without further preamble, Ezekiel picks him up and props him against his hip before climbing the stairs. He's slept on the couch for three nights; since the terrible day Armarna was taken from him, he has been unable to stomach the notion of sleeping in their bed, their room, where everything smells of her perfume and carries her memories. But if she were here, she'd insist on putting this little creature to bed somewhere comfortable and warm. So Ezekiel does what he's sure his wife would want him to do, and steps into the room he shared with his beloved for the first time since her last breath left her broken body.

As he shuffles the child in his arms to pull back the covers of the meticulously made bed, he can feel him grow heavier in his arms. By the time he lays him down on the pillow Armarna's head used to rest on, the child's eyes have drifted closed. The man tucks the blankets under the boy's chin and smooths back the mass of unruly curls from his forehead. He's about to stand and turn out the light to let the boy sleep when his eyes open again and stares up at him. His tiny hand peeks out from the covers and waves at him, beckoning Ezekiel's face towards his own. When the man leans over, the child plants a tiny kiss to the tip of the man's nose. The boy smiles that sweet, mischievous smile once more as his eyes drift closed again.

In that moment, Ezekiel's sad, broken heart swells. The impossible notion of ever being able to feel something akin to love again takes hold as he watches this child sleep soundly.

"I'll keep you safe," Ezekiel whispers to the child. "I'll protect you. You'll be all right."

When Sae arrives in the morning with her granddaughter Delly in tow, Ezekiel expects the strange looks and confused questions from the older woman. But as he'd asked, she brings along some clothing that had belonged to Delly's older brother Thatch, and Ezekiel quickly helps his tiny charge change into them before sending the children into the living room to play and watch cartoons.

"Children don't fall out of the sky, Ezekiel!" Sae whispers tersely to him after he explains how he found the child, but omits the strange hunk of black metal in the woods beyond his property.

"This one did, Sae! And he's all alone in the world. He's gentle and sweet. And I don't know why, but I feel like—I don't know, like maybe he was sent to me somehow."

Sae shakes her head. "You're grieving, Ezekiel. You're lonely and you feel robbed because of what happened to Armarna, but this...you can't keep a child just because he wandered onto your property. He must have parents or some sort of guardians who are desperate to find him. You could be accused of kidnapping!"

"He says he doesn't have anyone. When I asked him where his parents are, he pointed to the sky. They must be dead..."

"You have to call Social Services. Find him a home with people who are prepared to raise an orphan."

"No! What if they send him somewhere terrible? What if they harm him?"

"This isn't legal. There are steps that ought to be taken...and I'm sorry, my friend, but you are in no mental or emotional state to raise a child after becoming a widower. You can't play family just because you miss your wife."

Ezekiel pounds the counter in anger. "Don't use that against me, Sae. You know how Armarna and I wanted a child. You wouldn't be saying that if she were still here. You'd be shouting to the heavens with joy that our prayers were answered. I know in my heart of hearts I'm responsible for this boy. I...I feel a kinship with him. I need to protect him. He's my responsibility now. I'm not asking you, I'm telling you...please, help me. I can't send him away."

From the living room, a sharp giggle erupts from one of the children's mouths. The adults rush into the room and their jaws drop.

"Look, Nana! He's super strong!" Delly laughs. She's perched on the loveseat with her legs folded underneath her. And the loveseat is suspended in midair by the boy's tiny, completely steady arms. The boy looks pleased with himself, like there's nothing at all amiss with being able to hold an entire piece of furniture and the small girl sitting on it above his head. No grown man could accomplish such a feat and yet this child makes it look effortless.

Sae snatches the girl off the loveseat and holds her protectively in her arms. The boy's face falls, and he places the sofa back in the ground like it weighs no more than a pound or two. Ezekiel crouches in front of him and purses his lips.

"How...how did you do that?" he asks the child. The boy shrugs in response.

"He's strong!" Delly says again. "He wasn't gonna drop me, Nana, honest! We were just playing!"

"Ezekiel, something is wrong here. You need to call..."

"No, Sae! No one I'd call would understand...he didn't mean any harm, he just..." Ezekiel sighs and folds the child against his chest. In truth, he's perplexed. The part of him that wondered if this child was not of this planet is convinced now that is exactly the case, no matter how implausible it seems.

"What if he'd hurt her?"

"He didn't, Nana! He's my friend!" Delly cries.

"You don't even know his name," Sae says to her patiently.

"I don't care! He's my friend now! Nana, don't yell at him," Delly whimpers.

From his spot in the man's arms, the little towhead looks impossibly confused and worried. His blue eyes glisten. Ezekiel tuts and smooths his hair.

"Do you remember what I said last night, son?" he whispers to him.

The boy nods and once again presses a tiny kiss to the man's nose.

"Ezekiel, don't..." Sae warns. He cuts her off with a wave of his hand.

"I'll keep him safe. I'll teach him what is right and wrong...look at him, Sae. He's afraid of the dark, he's enchanted by horses, he giggles when he gets excited. He's just a child."

"Who lifts furniture above his head like it weighs nothing," Sae says gravely.

"He's remarkable. And he's my son, so I'll expect you to respect that."

Ezekiel's tone is final. Delly squirms out of her grandmother's arms and tugs at the little boy's hand. "C'mon Pita!" She says.

"Why did you call him that, Delly?" Ezekiel asks.

"'Cause it's all he wants to eat and he won't tell me his real name. So I'll call him that. I think he likes it," the girl explains.

"Pita is a sort of bread, Delly, not a name," Sae scolds.

"...Not the way it's usually spelled," Ezekiel thinks aloud.