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Brothers And Heroes part 14
Parts Before
I’m glad something’s happening here. The other stories are lounging around eating grapes and sneering at me when I ask them to do any actual work. Effin’ prima donnas. It’s too hot, it’s too cold, there’s not enough porn, Lucas is poking me, whine whine whine. (that’s me), my ass is killing me…oh. Heh. Sorry. At any rate, here are the good boys.
Brothers And Heroes
A month or two had passed since Clark found out about his origins. He still spent long hours thinking about what it meant. He worried about what his imperviousness meant…what if it kept going, this effect? What if…Clark drew in a shuddering breath. What if his skin kept getting harder and harder until….
“Geez, Clark, I can feel you thinking from here. What’s up?” Bruce was in his doorway, shower damp and dressed for bed. “What’s got you all thinky,” he asked.
Clark grimaced. “It’s stupid…”
“Oh, in that case...” Bruce said and turned away from the doorway as if he were about to leave.
“But it worries me,” Clark added quickly and looked at Bruce hopefully.
Bruce grinned and came in the room, sat on the edge of his bed. “So what’s on your mind?”
“I’m afraid, Bruce. If my skin is too strong to hurt...”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“What if I end up not feeling anything? What if I’m already not feeling things?”
Bruce leaned over and grabbed Clark, hugged him. “You feel that?”
“Yeah,” he said and smiled a little.
Bruce yanked his pj top up and tickled his ribs unmercifully. “What are you, a pillbug?” he laughed as Clark wiggled and tried to roll into a ball. “So, you feel that?” he chuckled, after a few seconds.
Clark giggled and scooted away. “Yes! Yes!”
Bruce stood and leaned over his bed. He brushed the hair off Clark’s forehead, and kissed him very gently, barely a brush of lips against his brow. “Can you feel that?”
Clark sighed happily and said quietly, “yes.”
“Then you have nothing to worry, okay? Relax, Clark. You’re just fine, understand?”
Clark nodded, warm from head to toe.
“Right then. Sleep tight, weird kid.” Bruce winked from the doorway. “Oh, Clark,” he said before walking out the door.
Clark was already sleepy, “Hmm, yes?” he tried not to drift off as he waited for Bruce to speak again.
“So, what does 'Klatu Barda Nictu' mean anyway?”
“Oh—you jerk!”
Bruce dodged the pillow that came flying at him, and heard Clark giggling all the way back to his room.
*****
“Pete, do strange things ever happen to you? Strange feelings, I mean?”
“Like right now?” Pete eyed Clark uneasily. “Cause you’re looking at me pretty creepily.”
Clark grinned at Pete. “Never mind Pete. I was just curious if you ever had weird feelings about stuff some time. It’s goofy.”
Pete, still staring at Clark, answered slowly, almost reluctantly, “Sometimes I do…sometimes I feel like I’m not really—important--you know? I feel like my family doesn’t even know I’m there. Like I’m invisible and my brothers and sister are the really important ones. Is that what you mean?”
Clark was surprised—he’d always thought Pete had the perfect life. His brothers were cool and popular; his sister was so nice... "Yeah, kind of. Yeah.”
Pete shrugged and looked through the pile of comics Bruce had left on the porch. Pete grabbed one and stretched out across the bottom step, and looked up at Clark who was lying across the top step and reading 'Spooky' much to the amusement of the others. “Girls comic”, Whit had snorted.
Whit chimed in from the far side of the porch. “Sometimes I can’t figure out what my folks want from me. Gee, Pete, I figured it must be great to have all those kids around and be able to hide from your folks sometimes. Mine watch me all the darn time, like I’m a rat and they’re the cats. I can’t do anything without them eyeballing me. Anyway, what’s up with the weird feeling talk Clark? Your folks giving you a hard time?” He turned to Pete and jerked his thumb toward Clark. “Now, here’s the guy who has the life—he’s rich and he’s only got to share it with one brother.”
Pete laughed as Clark blushed. “Come on guys,” he said. “You know Pop is…well…”
“Frugal?” Pete asked “Is frugal is the word you’re looking for?”
“Pete! You’re trying to say Mr. Kent is cheap?” Whit said. “He just doesn’t believe in being a show-off, right, Clark?”
Clark nodded. “He wants Bruce and me to have a normal life.”
Pete shrugged. “I guess. Anyway, what are we doing the rest of the day, guys?”
Clark grinned a little. “I got a letter from Lex. Want me to read it to you?”
“Is it about the girls in the other school? ‘Cause, yeah if it is.”
“Pete, those girls are way older than you.”
”Experience, guys—that’s the important thing. I like older women.”
Whit snorted. “Pete, you’re weird.”
“See,” Clark said. “You *are* having weird feelings.”
They walked into the house and headed up to Clark’s room, and as Clark passed Whit in the hallway, he grinned at him and bumped him into the wall.
“What’s up Whit?” Clark grinned back.
Whit shook his head. “Speaking of girls, remind me to tell you about this talk Dad had with me the other night Now, *that* was weird.”
Clark laughed. “Oh no, Whitney, no way it could have been stranger then the talk I had with mine.”
******
Bruce was bored. Bored with school, bored with his friends. He hung out with them less since Clark had almost drowned last summer. If he hadn’t been hanging out with them and acting like a jerk, Clark wouldn’t have had to go through that. He still felt guilty about it.
More and more, he tended to float through his days, disconnected and uninterested in anything until finally his parents noticed, and decided that Bruce needed something that would challenge him.
One afternoon, Jon joined Bruce in the private hangout they’d constructed for him in the barn’s loft. During the past summer they’d helped him clean it out and turn it into a place where he could spend some time in private, and also have his friends over without certain little brothers getting in the way. With some cast off furniture and an old rug, it was pretty comfortable, and books and chairs migrated to the loft—and somehow so did little brothers, Clark was just as likely to have his friends up in the loft as Bruce.
Bruce was patient though, and Clark was smart enough not to wear out his welcome. Bruce had further plans for the loft, and one of them involved talking Pop into running an electric line up there. He looked up at when he heard Jon’s footsteps, hoping he was coming to work on that project. Instead, Pop had an offer for him.
“Son, I could use your help at work, and I’m thinking you could use an after-school job.”
Bruce thought, well, cool, he’d get to work in his dad’s office and flirt with the office staff, and make coffee, maybe schlep the mail around, it sounded good. While his friends were struggling carrying groceries, mowing lawns and flinging papers in all kinds of weather, he’d be in a nice dry office, pretending to work. He grinned at Jon.
“Sounds great, Pop!”
Sounds great! he mocked himself later. He should have known better. What a sucker he’d been.
The next day, Pop gave him a pair of gloves and a smirk. “See you at the green house, son. Wear rubber boots, kid.” Bruce got railroaded into service in the greenhouses. He swept and washed glass and trimmed and lugged trimming to the compost piles and watered and misted and plucked and smashed a million tons of bugs—he scrubbed clean seedlings trays and secateurs and sharpened spades and learned that compost tea was not for people but great for plants, that they did nothing in the greenhouse that wasn’t noted and cataloged and watched like a hawk. He learned it felt good to be treated like one of the guys, and be respected for your work.
He came in at night dirty and tired and smelling, always managed to skin something, or drive a splinter into something.
He loved it. It was the best thing ever and he was beginning to think it might be a pretty good thing to do with his life. He was coming to appreciate that Pop was driven to try and reveal the mysteries of the plants around them, looking for the key each one contained to unlock and create something new, something of benefit to people. Bruce wanted to help people too, maybe that was the reason he was here, alive—maybe he was meant to help.
TBC! Whooooo!
I’m glad something’s happening here. The other stories are lounging around eating grapes and sneering at me when I ask them to do any actual work. Effin’ prima donnas. It’s too hot, it’s too cold, there’s not enough porn, Lucas is poking me, whine whine whine. (that’s me), my ass is killing me…oh. Heh. Sorry. At any rate, here are the good boys.
Brothers And Heroes
A month or two had passed since Clark found out about his origins. He still spent long hours thinking about what it meant. He worried about what his imperviousness meant…what if it kept going, this effect? What if…Clark drew in a shuddering breath. What if his skin kept getting harder and harder until….
“Geez, Clark, I can feel you thinking from here. What’s up?” Bruce was in his doorway, shower damp and dressed for bed. “What’s got you all thinky,” he asked.
Clark grimaced. “It’s stupid…”
“Oh, in that case...” Bruce said and turned away from the doorway as if he were about to leave.
“But it worries me,” Clark added quickly and looked at Bruce hopefully.
Bruce grinned and came in the room, sat on the edge of his bed. “So what’s on your mind?”
“I’m afraid, Bruce. If my skin is too strong to hurt...”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“What if I end up not feeling anything? What if I’m already not feeling things?”
Bruce leaned over and grabbed Clark, hugged him. “You feel that?”
“Yeah,” he said and smiled a little.
Bruce yanked his pj top up and tickled his ribs unmercifully. “What are you, a pillbug?” he laughed as Clark wiggled and tried to roll into a ball. “So, you feel that?” he chuckled, after a few seconds.
Clark giggled and scooted away. “Yes! Yes!”
Bruce stood and leaned over his bed. He brushed the hair off Clark’s forehead, and kissed him very gently, barely a brush of lips against his brow. “Can you feel that?”
Clark sighed happily and said quietly, “yes.”
“Then you have nothing to worry, okay? Relax, Clark. You’re just fine, understand?”
Clark nodded, warm from head to toe.
“Right then. Sleep tight, weird kid.” Bruce winked from the doorway. “Oh, Clark,” he said before walking out the door.
Clark was already sleepy, “Hmm, yes?” he tried not to drift off as he waited for Bruce to speak again.
“So, what does 'Klatu Barda Nictu' mean anyway?”
“Oh—you jerk!”
Bruce dodged the pillow that came flying at him, and heard Clark giggling all the way back to his room.
*****
“Pete, do strange things ever happen to you? Strange feelings, I mean?”
“Like right now?” Pete eyed Clark uneasily. “Cause you’re looking at me pretty creepily.”
Clark grinned at Pete. “Never mind Pete. I was just curious if you ever had weird feelings about stuff some time. It’s goofy.”
Pete, still staring at Clark, answered slowly, almost reluctantly, “Sometimes I do…sometimes I feel like I’m not really—important--you know? I feel like my family doesn’t even know I’m there. Like I’m invisible and my brothers and sister are the really important ones. Is that what you mean?”
Clark was surprised—he’d always thought Pete had the perfect life. His brothers were cool and popular; his sister was so nice... "Yeah, kind of. Yeah.”
Pete shrugged and looked through the pile of comics Bruce had left on the porch. Pete grabbed one and stretched out across the bottom step, and looked up at Clark who was lying across the top step and reading 'Spooky' much to the amusement of the others. “Girls comic”, Whit had snorted.
Whit chimed in from the far side of the porch. “Sometimes I can’t figure out what my folks want from me. Gee, Pete, I figured it must be great to have all those kids around and be able to hide from your folks sometimes. Mine watch me all the darn time, like I’m a rat and they’re the cats. I can’t do anything without them eyeballing me. Anyway, what’s up with the weird feeling talk Clark? Your folks giving you a hard time?” He turned to Pete and jerked his thumb toward Clark. “Now, here’s the guy who has the life—he’s rich and he’s only got to share it with one brother.”
Pete laughed as Clark blushed. “Come on guys,” he said. “You know Pop is…well…”
“Frugal?” Pete asked “Is frugal is the word you’re looking for?”
“Pete! You’re trying to say Mr. Kent is cheap?” Whit said. “He just doesn’t believe in being a show-off, right, Clark?”
Clark nodded. “He wants Bruce and me to have a normal life.”
Pete shrugged. “I guess. Anyway, what are we doing the rest of the day, guys?”
Clark grinned a little. “I got a letter from Lex. Want me to read it to you?”
“Is it about the girls in the other school? ‘Cause, yeah if it is.”
“Pete, those girls are way older than you.”
”Experience, guys—that’s the important thing. I like older women.”
Whit snorted. “Pete, you’re weird.”
“See,” Clark said. “You *are* having weird feelings.”
They walked into the house and headed up to Clark’s room, and as Clark passed Whit in the hallway, he grinned at him and bumped him into the wall.
“What’s up Whit?” Clark grinned back.
Whit shook his head. “Speaking of girls, remind me to tell you about this talk Dad had with me the other night Now, *that* was weird.”
Clark laughed. “Oh no, Whitney, no way it could have been stranger then the talk I had with mine.”
******
Bruce was bored. Bored with school, bored with his friends. He hung out with them less since Clark had almost drowned last summer. If he hadn’t been hanging out with them and acting like a jerk, Clark wouldn’t have had to go through that. He still felt guilty about it.
More and more, he tended to float through his days, disconnected and uninterested in anything until finally his parents noticed, and decided that Bruce needed something that would challenge him.
One afternoon, Jon joined Bruce in the private hangout they’d constructed for him in the barn’s loft. During the past summer they’d helped him clean it out and turn it into a place where he could spend some time in private, and also have his friends over without certain little brothers getting in the way. With some cast off furniture and an old rug, it was pretty comfortable, and books and chairs migrated to the loft—and somehow so did little brothers, Clark was just as likely to have his friends up in the loft as Bruce.
Bruce was patient though, and Clark was smart enough not to wear out his welcome. Bruce had further plans for the loft, and one of them involved talking Pop into running an electric line up there. He looked up at when he heard Jon’s footsteps, hoping he was coming to work on that project. Instead, Pop had an offer for him.
“Son, I could use your help at work, and I’m thinking you could use an after-school job.”
Bruce thought, well, cool, he’d get to work in his dad’s office and flirt with the office staff, and make coffee, maybe schlep the mail around, it sounded good. While his friends were struggling carrying groceries, mowing lawns and flinging papers in all kinds of weather, he’d be in a nice dry office, pretending to work. He grinned at Jon.
“Sounds great, Pop!”
Sounds great! he mocked himself later. He should have known better. What a sucker he’d been.
The next day, Pop gave him a pair of gloves and a smirk. “See you at the green house, son. Wear rubber boots, kid.” Bruce got railroaded into service in the greenhouses. He swept and washed glass and trimmed and lugged trimming to the compost piles and watered and misted and plucked and smashed a million tons of bugs—he scrubbed clean seedlings trays and secateurs and sharpened spades and learned that compost tea was not for people but great for plants, that they did nothing in the greenhouse that wasn’t noted and cataloged and watched like a hawk. He learned it felt good to be treated like one of the guys, and be respected for your work.
He came in at night dirty and tired and smelling, always managed to skin something, or drive a splinter into something.
He loved it. It was the best thing ever and he was beginning to think it might be a pretty good thing to do with his life. He was coming to appreciate that Pop was driven to try and reveal the mysteries of the plants around them, looking for the key each one contained to unlock and create something new, something of benefit to people. Bruce wanted to help people too, maybe that was the reason he was here, alive—maybe he was meant to help.
TBC! Whooooo!
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