Another new chapter, friends! And if it weren't for chapter 27 then this one would be the longest I've written, so I hope you enjoy it.
Thank you so very much for the reviews everyone!
Anyway, enjoy,
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Chapter 28: Goodbye
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Clark stood by his mother’s side, but he wasn’t looking towards the hall of people like the frail-looking woman beside him. He had both their carry-ons at his side and was staring out at the perfectly blue sky, watching the planes and they lifted off into the air.
Freedom.
The vent above him blew dusty terminal air into his face, brushing his dark hair from his face. He lifted his face towards it, and towards the sunlight that came down through the finger-smudged window pane.
Imagining. Flying. Forgetting.
Some children were playing by the window—a young girl around the age of six was trying to lift her four-year-old brother who was almost her own size so he could see the airplanes. Clark looked at them and a smallest smile brushed across his face.
Innocence.
It was what he needed to protect.
He was such a small thing in such a big world. One man, but one man with powers. They were coming back, and when he was back to normal--for him--nothing could get in the way of protecting that innocence.
Not even himself.
It was too important. He knew that more than ever, now. He could help them. In many ways, he was the only one that could do it. So he had to. He needed to.
His mother touched his arm gently as their tickets were called to board. Clark hefted both of their carry-ons and followed her forward.
They checked in and made their way to their seats. His mother let him take the window seat—he had never liked flying on planes, but letting him watch the clouds as they passed them by always made it a little better.
He felt the plane humming alive around them. They pulled away from the terminal and wheeled onto the runway.
The engines roared, hurting his ears despite his lack of powers. The runway rushed by, trees, grass, people, cars blurred as they picked up speed.
They lifted off, wobbling slightly in the air as the buildings began to shrink into toys and then blur into nothing. Clark pressed his face against the glass, staring out as Metropolis shrank in his view.
Somewhere down there, Lois Lane was walking, standing, working, breathing. Searching for him, while he was right under her nose.
Goodbye, Lois.
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Lois hit the street early, grabbing a cab and directing them to Hobb’s Bay and a certain grey warehouse there.
She looked out the window, not watching the city as gleaming office buildings faded into drab stores and then to warehouses. No, her eyes were glued to the sky.
Where are you?
She saw something—a dot, really, but it was there. She felt her heart lift with hope…
But no. It was just an airplane heading over and away from Metropolis.
She slumped back, disappointed, but her eyes still didn’t leave the sky.
Somewhere out there, Superman was breathing, thinking, living.
He’d left her.
She told herself it didn’t matter, even if it hurt. The man was too blockheaded for his own good, and she could make excuses if he was even more foolish than usual after…everything.
She’d find him.
He needed her as much as she needed him. He knew how much he needed her. Perhaps that was why he had left.
I’ll find you.
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Clark kept busy. It was perhaps the only thing that kept him from breaking—the only thing that kept him from thinking of his father, of Lois…of his fear.
It was the advantage of lacking superpowers. He could work all day until he was exhausted, even with his growing strength and speed day by day. And when he was tired he found there wasn't as much time to think, to feel, to hurt.
The day of Jonathan’s funeral dawned bright and clear. Clark woke early to do all the morning chores, not allowing himself to think too closely on everything that had happened.
He was Superman. He had to be strong. His father would want him to be.
He took his time washing up and getting dressed, making sure every hair was in the right place, and that his suit was absolutely wrinkle-less.
It was his father’s day. Today was for him.
He drove his mother to the church, where they were holding a small viewing and commemoration for Jonathan’s life. Clark didn’t cry. He stood and spoke a soft yet strong tribute for the only man he knew as his father. Superman stood and swore to let Jonathan Kent live on through his actions, even if no one recognized him except the small, trembling woman on the front pew, who clasped his hand tightly as he sat back down beside her.
Clark helped carry the heavy casket out into the hearse. The drive to the Smallville Cemetery was quiet. They gathered around the carefully dug hole, said a few last words, and Jonathan Kent disappeared into the earth for good.
Goodbye.
No more fishing trips. No more quiet man-to-man talks over coffee after Martha had gone to bed. No more cautions on the dangers of being found out, or the sympathizing with Clark after a difficult rescue.
There were some things that Clark just couldn’t talk with his mother about.
He stood over the fresh grave as friends and family began to filter away with their last words of condolences. He stood alone, a bit on the pale side and his hands trembling slightly despite his resolve.
Goodbye. You will live on through my works, Dad. Every rescue I make, every life I save, I’ll think of you, pulling a little alien foundling out of a cold spaceship and giving him a home.
Giving me a home. Giving me a life.
Clark felt a hand on his shoulder and jerked back, almost knocking the glasses right from his own face before grabbing at them and pushing them back on. Jimmy Olsen stood behind him, though he had stepped back quickly at Clark’s action and had a hand raised up before his face in some sort of awkward defense move.
“Whoa, CK,” Jimmy said, with a small smile from the usually beaming photographer. He was complete with his camera, bow tie, and vest sweater, though his whole ensemble was appropriately somber, especially with the still colorful but slightly fading bruise across face. “I’m still recovering from Lois, here.”
Lois…
“J-Jimmy,” Clark stuttered, shaken despite himself. His heart felt like it had gone into superspeed, and tried to fly right out of his chest at the same time. “What are you—?”
Jimmy sobered further, letting his arm fall to his side. “Got to know your parents pretty well, those first few days, and after your father…well, your dad was a great guy,” he fidgeted, slightly awkward, but completely sincere nonetheless. “I’m sorry, CK.”
Clark felt a lump in his throat and he swallowed it with difficulty as he adjusted his coat with slightly shaking fingers. He hadn’t really gone out of his way to befriend the young copyboy—not really. They had watched a movie together, some weeks ago, and played basketball once or twice, though Jimmy was not the most graceful on the court, and Clark had given him some pointers. But it must have drained Jimmy’s savings fund to get him here, not to mention his favors fund that he always worked so hard to build up for Perry.
“Thanks, Jimmy,” Clark said. “I—I really appreciate it.”
Jimmy gave a hesitant grin—unable to hide his pleasure despite the circumstance.
“W-when are you heading back?” Clark asked. He cleared his throat, trying to calm himself down.
He was outside. The blue sky wrapped its arms around him and weren’t going to let him go. He was safe.
“Tomorrow morning—early,” Jimmy said. “The Chief wouldn’t let me go for more than a day, so I’ll be leaving before the sun’s up—farmer’s hour, I think. Though that might be usual for around here. Anyway, he wants me back tomorrow by nine.”
“Do you have a place to stay?” Clark asked, hesitant himself. “We—we could fix up a bed at my place, if you want.”
Jimmy opened his mouth for a quick negative answer. He didn’t want to be a burden, or to intrude on his difficult time, but Clark saw through him and spoke before he could.
“Really, Jimmy,” he said, sincere despite the fact that he was still feeling a bit shaky from Jimmy’s startling clap on his arm. “It...it would help to have people around, you know?”
People around to distract him from the memories.
Jimmy grinned. “Sure, CK. If…if that’s all right, that is.”
It did help to have Jimmy along. Martha welcomed him with a long hug and another kiss on his cheek, which sent the young man into a furious blush. Martha demanded after the bruise, but Jimmy waved it away just like he had tried to with Clark, and Martha let it go, though not until after a little fussing as they rode together to the Kent farm.
“We…we really appreciate you coming all the way here, Jimmy,” Clark said as he pulled into their long driveway. “Honestly, though, I won’t say I’m not a little surprised to see you.”
Jimmy shrugged and looked uncomfortable in the back seat of the truck. “Well, CK,” he started slowly. “You know, my mom died a few good years ago, and my dad…well…I haven’t heard from him in years.” He fidgeted. “I know I, you know, have a little less experience than most at the Daily Planet, and…well, sometimes I just think I get on people’s nerves, like Lois.” He ducked his head slightly. “I know we’ve only known each other a few months, CK, but you’re…well, you’re like a big brother to me, you know?”
Clark pulled the parking break up in front of the house slowly, rolling over Jimmy’s thoughts in his mind. He had never thought that the young man had such a sad life’s story. He always seemed so genuinely cheerful. A happy-go-lucky kind of kid.
And he was a good kid. Sincere, and with a good heart.
Clark had never really tried that hard to be nice to him—just his usual casual friendliness. Guilt built up in him that he hadn’t even thought to ask about Jimmy’s family.
But Jimmy went on, somehow. Clark wondered if the young man even had a life outside of The Daily Planet. He never seemed to, except for an awkward date now and again. But even alone, he seemed to do just fine.
He could do it too. He could get over this—all of this. He had to. He could be the same sort of innocent, slightly-annoying, yet hopefully as sincere-feeling as one Jimmy Olsen.
“Thanks, Jimmy,” Clark said, deciding right then and there that he would make an effort to truly be the big brother that Jimmy looked up to him as. “That…that means a lot.”
They went into the house to drop off Jimmy’s bags and change into more comfortable clothes, and Martha brushed the boys outside as she herself went out to sit on the porch. It was a beautiful day, and Jonathan wouldn’t have wanted them to let it go to waste. They flipped through picture albums, reminiscing about good times in a bitter-sweet kind of way, and eventually Clark lost himself enough that he even managed to add a smile to the laughter now and again at some of the outrageous photos that they dug out. By the end Clark was bright red from embarrassment, which looked odd besides the shadows that still lingered around his face.
“R-really, Mom,” he groaned as Martha pulled out yet another baby picture—this one where Clark had pulled on some “big-boy pants” over his bright blue full-bodied sleeper pajamas before climbing onto the cupboard and breaking into a jar of raspberry jam. “You’re supposed to be on my side. Y-you know, protect me, not show my baby pictures to the world.”
“I’m your mother,” Martha replied. “And you’re my only son. Of course, we were…” She faltered the slightest bit. “Jonathan and I were so glad to have a son, we couldn’t get enough of you.”
And wasn’t that the truth. They had enough baby and toddler pictures to make the over-enthusiastic photographer whistle at the number.
It was good to have the Jimmy there. It was good to be able to make him laugh, and to laugh in turn. It was an odd feeling, laughing on the day of his dad’s funeral, and more than once the thought hit him and he grew somber.
More than once memories of a cold white room hit him, and made him go still.
But no. They had to move on. They had to let him go. Jonathan would have wanted it that way.
As the day began to ebb into evening Clark changed into working clothes and led Jimmy out to see the farm. Jimmy was a city boy all the way through. He had even been a bit hesitant of approaching Shelby, the hyperactive fully-grown-yet-still-a-pup-at-heart yellow lab that had joined the family only a few months before, though once he realized that the dog was not trying to eat him the two of them hardly left the other’s side for the rest of the night. They spent a bit of time tossing a ball for the dog to burn some of that never-ending energy, then Clark led Jimmy to the barn and introduced him to the animals.
Clark was amused enough to manage a grin. The young photographer was hesitant about approaching the chickens, but that hesitancy turned into downright terror of the animals after a particularly large rooster attacked him in a flurry of feathers. He wasn’t hurt, thanks to Clark’s quick intervention, but Jimmy refused to enter the chicken coop again.
“Chicken? Ha!” he laughed, albeit a bit shakenly. “Whoever started calling cowardly people chickens? That’s the angriest bird I’ve ever seen! Chicken!”
Jimmy refused to even get close to the cows. He stayed safely on the other side of the fence, his camera at the ready.
“Can you imagine what Lois would say if she saw you now?” he mused after taking a picture of Clark as he pitched hay into the field. “You really do take to the farmer’s part easily enough, CK.”
Clark gave a crooked grin at that. Yes, he could imagine what Lois would say if she saw him. That was all he had been doing, the past few days since leaving her. He had hardly stopped talking to her in his head, even at night when he woke up cold and sweating—terrified in the darkness. He had spent most of the first two nights back home sleeping out in the field, under the stars.
Under the same stars she slept under.
If she were here she would complain a bit, and tease him a lot. But for all her condemning words, he was sure that she had liked it here, even during her short stay. It was hard not to like it here.
Was it only three weeks ago that he had been here last? Was it only three weeks ago that everything had been so right?
It felt like a lifetime had passed, and only here—at his home—did the world stand still and allow him to breathe.
But his father was gone. And without his father, the safe haven he had cherished throughout his travels over the years had changed.
Nothing was safe. No one was safe.
Clark showed Jimmy his treehouse, though there was no way to get up without a ladder, and it was getting dark. Martha called them in for some warmed up supper that neighbors and friends had brought by.
Dinner was quiet. With the setting of the sun and the usually family occasion, Jonathan’s absence was brought home more than ever. His usual seat was untouched at the end of the table, and Clark’s eyes just kept sliding towards that cold, empty chair. Even Jimmy remained more or less quiet.
This table had so many memories. Memories of him, of his mom, of his dad. It was an old table, now—Jonathan had been thinking of buying one for Martha’s next birthday—but Clark couldn’t imagine getting a new one. Not now.
They cleared the table and cleaned up together. They used to do it all together, but even with Jimmy’s help it seemed like someone was missing.
Because someone was.
Clark put the last plate in the cupboard. The hole that Jonathan Kent had left was screaming for attention. He wanted to fly off, to get away where he could pretend that everything was normal, or to hide in his room and cry until he couldn’t cry any more.
But he couldn’t.
Clark cleared his throat. “Are…are you two up to a game of…of Boggle?” he said, a bit uncertainly. It had been his father’s game, at first, and Clark hadn’t been able to beat him until he was halfway through college. He had come home and scratched by with a few points, and once it was clear that he had won the small family had gone off to town to celebrate with ice cream sodas. It had been a wonderful night.
“I think I have it right here,” Martha said, bending down to open a drawer and pulling out the well-worn game. The box had long since been lost, and the game itself was now kept carefully in a gallon-sized freezer bag. The transparent cover itself was broken, but held together by a number of layers of duct tape.
Certainly a well-loved game.
They pulled out pens and enough paper to last a month of Boggle playing, then sat down.
“The secret to playing with Clark,” Martha said, leaning over to whisper to Jimmy, though it was loud enough that Clark heard it easily even without his superhearing, “is to get as many people as possible to play with him. There are only a limited amount of words in each round as it is, and chances are thatbetween all of us we might cross out most of his words.”
“Mom!” Clark protested, though it was softer than a full-out objection.
“It’s true!” Martha countered.
“I’m not really, you know, feeling it tonight, though,” he said, with a slight sideways glance at her. He never used superspeed to win, but even with his speedy recovery so far he certainly didn’t feel normal…for him.
Martha lifted an eyebrow. “Then let’s consider the playing field evened.” She set an old kitchen timer to three minutes and shook the game. “Ready? Go!”
Clark won that first round just for his dad.
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He was in the white room. His arms were like lead and pain coursed up and down him like electricity, but he couldn’t move. He was trapped, trapped in pain, and terror.
And alone.
“L-Lois,” he groaned through the agony. “Lois!”
His voice alone seemed to work, but no one answered in the echoing whiteness.
She wasn’t there.
He swore desperately, praying for help, but as always in his nightmares, no one came.
This time, not even Lois came.
Logram stepped out of the blinding light, holding a long, dripping needle in blood-covered hands. His fatherly face was kind—a bit regretful, but set. Like a father.
“Superman…” And before his eyes, he shifted—blurring, fading…into the face of Jonathan Kent. “Clark…”
“Dad!” Clark wept for joy. He was there. Even while the pain shook his body again, cracking into his arm and leg, he felt calm come over him. His dad was there.
“Clark. They’ll dissect you like a frog, son.”
“I know Dad. I know. Please…please…”
“You’re not human.” No. That was Logram’s voice. But his father stood there.
“Dad…Dad…”
“Even though you’ve been raised as a human being, you’re not one of them.” Was it his dad speaking, or Logram? Pain was blinding his thoughts, deafening his ears, killing his senses.
“Dad…p-please…”
Something was wrong. He couldn’t think. His dad’s eyes alone were before him, and white, white, white…but he couldn’t reach his father. He was slipping away. It was all slipping away. Pain shook his body.
“Kal-El.”
Lois? No, that wasn’t her voice.
The pain was too much. It was too much.
“He is not your father. You are not his son.”
“N-no. Dad!”
“You’ll be okay, Clark.”
“Kal-El.” The voice was soft, but insistent, even in the blurring whiteness.
“Alien!”
“Kal-El.”
“SUPERMAN!”
“CK! CK, wake up!”
Clark bolted upwards with a gasping cry. He clasped the quilt on his blanket to his heaving chest as he looked about his familiar room, glancing over the pictures that had gathered there over the years.
“SUPERMAN!”
It was Lois. Lois was calling for him. She was screaming his name, calling for him, pleading…
He leaped out of bed, halfway to the bedroom door before Jimmy caught his arm.
"CK, where are you going?”
“I…I have to go to…to Lois,” Clark murmured through chattering teeth. He could hear her crying. She needed him.
He needed her.
"CK. Whoa! Hold on there. It’s the middle of the night. I heard you…uh…well…you know.”
Clark stopped, noticing for the first time the still-damp tears on his face. He froze in the darkness, reaching up to feel the wet trails with shaking fingers. Jimmy had heard him crying.
But Clark could hear her—Lois. But that wasn’t all he could hear. He could hear a plane flying thousands of feet in the air above them. He could hear the quiet shifting of the cows in the field. He could hear the distant, quiet hum of nighttime city life. He could hear the soft beat of his mother’s heart as she climbed out of bed, roused by the commotion.
Lois was calling him. But the fact that he could hear her, so small, so distant, was an amazing feat even with superhearing.
Superman, where are you!?!”
I’m here, Lois.
"Clark? Jimmy?"
Clark blinked, coming to himself. He clung to the doorframe as he shook from the fading memories of the nightmare, but the fear was far too familiar.
“I…I just had a nightmare, that’s all. S-sorry.”
He wanted to fly to her. To take her into the sky and forget everything.
“I wasn’t asleep,” Martha said, drawing her robe around her and turning on the hall light. Clark glanced over at the clock. It was just past four in the morning.
What in the world was Lois doing calling for Superman at four in the morning?
She didn’t sound in trouble. Her calls were growing softer, though, almost plaintive. And then they stopped altogether.
Maybe she had had a bad dream too, and now she’d just woken up.
Alone.
He wanted to fly to her.
“Clark, your glasses.”
Clark blinked, first at his mom, and then at Jimmy before turning sharply and almost crashing into the doorframe as he spun back into his room. He picked the heavy frames from his dresser and came out, putting them on awkwardly. He did his best not to look at Jimmy in a panic. Had he noticed? No, he looked too calm—sleep-tousled and blinking. He hadn’t noticed, surely. “Uh, s-sorry. I…I’m okay now, Jimmy. Thanks for…for waking me up and all.”
“It must have been a horrible nightmare, CK,” Jimmy said, rubbing his eyes. “It looked awful.”
“I…I dreamed about…about my d-dad.”
Not a complete lie. He remembered…a little.
He is not your father. You are not his son.
Kal-El.
Clark shivered. His mother gave him a close look.
“Well, I guess I’ll…just head on back to bed,” Jimmy said, standing a bit awkwardly in his pajamas between the two of them. “You going to be all right?” he stifled a yawn.
Jimmy had been placed in the guest room, which had been used for sleepovers or visiting relatives in Clark’s younger years, but more recently had been converted into a sort of den for paperwork and the Kent’s relatively new electronic addition—a computer. It hadn’t taken much work to fix it back up for Jimmy to sleep in for the night, but it was just across from Clark’s room.
“Y-yeah. I…I can’t even remember most of it anyway,” Clark said, and it was honest. But did it matter? What he remembered—what he had lived—was bad enough.
Bureau 39. And now his father was dead.
You are not one of them.
Clark blocked out his thoughts.
“Thank you, Jimmy. We’ll let you get back to bed, then. Come along, Clark. Let me get you some oolong tea and we can talk about it.” Martha quickly took charge of the situation and pulled Clark’s quilt from his bed and wrapped it around his shoulders. Clark took it and followed her down the stairs.
Martha fixed the tea and they sat down at the table.
“Them again?” Martha said softly, and not only because she didn’t want to keep Jimmy up. If he was awake and listening, there were some things that they didn’t want heard.
Clark bowed his head, looking down into the murky liquid but not drinking it. “Y-yeah, I guess.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. It was damp from sweat and his stomach was rolling. “But…it was about Dad. It’s just…I can’t…” The pain. That seemed the only thing that he could remember clearly. That, and the fear, and the loss. He took a deep breath. “I don’t really remember the details.”
Martha put a hand over his. He had nightmares every night, and she knew it. But Clark was an independent boy and hated to be seen as weak. She knew it, and so she had tried not to go in to him the past few days in Smallville. His childhood home seemed to have a calming effect on him, and though she heard him out of bed pacing or even just sitting on the edge of his bed staring into space, she knew he wanted to do it on his own.
Even though she didn’t think he knew how often she had just come in and sat by his side, brushing his hair from his face and watching him. Her little miracle, whom she had come so close to losing.
“Mom,” Clark said slowly. “I…I heard Lois.”
“In your dream?” Martha prompted. He didn’t like talking about his dreams much, but if he felt like he needed to, then Martha was more than glad to listen.
Anything to help her baby.
Clark would have talked to Jonathan about these sorts of things. He was still trying to protect her, even after everything he’d been through.
But Clark shook his head slowly. “N-no. My…my hearing’s back.”
Martha frowned. “But…but Lois is in Metropolis. And…it’s so early…”
“I-I don’t know, Mom,” Clark shrugged, a bit unsteadily. “I thought maybe…well, maybe she was having a nightmare too, and somehow I heard her because of that.”
“That poor girl,” Martha murmured. “Clark, you really need to tell her.”
Clark stiffened at that, and his fingers turned white around his cup. Martha was afraid he might actually break it and possibly hurt himself, but he seemed to notice his grip and let go of the cup carefully. He flattened his pale hand on the weathered tabletop.
“I…I…” Clark stuttered. He was white, and a bead of sweat dripped from his hair, and down the side of his face. “N-no…”
“Clark. Clark, listen to me.” Martha tightened her grip on his arm. He had gone someplace where she couldn’t follow, and she had to bring him back. “Clark!”
He blinked and his eyes focused on her at last. He pulled back his arm, and Martha realized she had been clasping right over that terrible scar of his. She hadn’t seen it since that first day—he kept it carefully hidden—but just the memory made her heart quiver, even if it didn’t seem to impair his work at all.
“I…I know,” Clark said shakily, making Martha wonder if that was what he was saying in the first place—not giving a negative answer. “I…I j-just…don’t know if…if I can, Mom.”
Martha put a hand on his shoulder. He was warm. He had always been so warm—even now, as his strong arms shook slightly with the tremors of fading panic.
“Clark, honey…”
Clark shook his head without meeting her eyes, and stood, picking up his cup with unusual care and turning away from her.
“I’d rather not talk about it right now.”
His Superman voice, devoid of all nervousness or stutter. That was good, Martha thought. She hadn’t heard him use that tone of voice since he had gotten back. The boy needed to understand that he couldn’t go through this alone, but right now he was fighting to hold it together. He needed to believe in himself again, before anything else.
“Okay, Clark,” Martha said softly.
Clark looked out the window, seeing far beyond the darkened cornfields even without his supervision. He lifted his cup and drained it in one go.
Martha watched him for a long moment in silence. Even after only a few days at home, he was growing to look at least a little bit more like his old self again. His shoulders had regained some of their confident set, at least, and his skin his usually healthy color as he put on a few extra pounds he had lost during that terrible week.
But his eyes…oh, every so often they’d go dark and Martha could see things that no man should ever have to see within their depths.
If ever Martha hated someone, it was whoever was responsible for doing this to her boy.
“You can go back to bed, Mom. I’ll go get an early start on the chores. I’m sorry for waking you.”
“Your powers are coming back?”
Clark nodded slowly, and Martha saw a mixture of Superman and Clark as he spoke. “My hearing just came back tonight. Strength…it’s returning slowly—bit by bit. I could lift the bales of hay yesterday better than before, but I was tired by the end. There’s no sign of any vision stuff or…or flying.”
Martha smiled slightly. Her little bluebird Clark. He always did love to fly. Even if he had never really spoken about it, she could see in his eyes how much that freedom did for him. It would be good for him to take to the skies again.
“Don’t forget your invulnerability,” Martha said. “You just drank that tea like it was cold water from the tap.” She lifted her own drink, which was still steaming and too hot to drink except in a very small sip.
A little smile lightened Clark’s expression as her comment triggered a memory. Martha would have loved to know what it was.
“Yes, I suppose that’s starting to come back, too,” he said, but his hand came up to rub his scarred arm unconsciously.
Invulnerability? Martha thought. Whoever thought to call him invulnerable? Clark had never been invulnerable, and not only because of Kryptonite. Her little boy was hurt, and hurting still.
But he was pushing through. She could see it in his eyes. He was determined to get over this, and it gave Martha hope.
So long as he didn’t lose himself in the process.
TBC...
