roxy. fic post

It's honeymoon time--where everything works and the words come fast and furious! Ah, I love this point in writing. The story loves you, you love the story--it always makes sure it was good for you before rolling over and going to sleep...ah! *snuggles story*

Here's more! *Previouslys have their fingers crossed, hoping for employment*

Title:Mariposa
Fandom: SV (so what’s new?)
Pairing: n/a—yet.
Rating: 2 (mildly disturbing imagery)
Summary: This is the land of AU-ness. Nothing ever goes the way you think it will. But really, isn’t that Roxyland all over?

One week earlier:

Martha swept pieces of the broken plate into the dustpan and shook it into the garbage. She wiped the countertop down and stepped back to check that it was spotless. She adjusted the curtains to let in the early morning sunlight and glanced up to see the bus already down the road.

She glanced at the table, cup of coffee from the morning still there and a ripped open band aid package by the cup. Power Rangers. She smiled and picked up the scraps. Her smile faded as she considered the wrapper. Clark was getting hurt less and less. This had been almost an odd occurrence—him falling and cutting his knee. He’d looked positively shocked at the blood. “Poor little thing.” But typically of Clark, he’d immediately seen the silver lining--He’d been so proud about the Power Ranger strip, she’d had to convince him that one was sufficient.

The sound of the tractor in the distance reminded her that she wanted to talk to Jonathan about Clark, soon, very soon.
We’re going to have to tell Clark soon, she thought. Tell him…something. I don’t want him not to know. Jonathan’s wrong hiding it, wanting to hide it. She tossed the strips of paper away. The ship was in the cellar for a reason, and not just to hide it. If I had my way, he’d know now. Clark’s brave, and strong. He can take it.
She was sure he’d adjust pretty quickly. He can take a lot more than most people can.. She thought firmly.

Her chores occupied her until lunchtime, and she glanced at the clock. She quickly made a cheese sandwich, dropped a few chips on the side and covered it with plastic wrap. Clark would be home soon, and she liked making his lunch ahead of time, so all she had to was get his recap of the day with no interruption. There was just something about watching his face, eyes glowing with excitement, and the way he had of tilting his head and drawing with his hands in the air—he was just so excited about everything.
She laughed to herself. Clark was a wellspring of enthusiasm.

She walked out to the mudroom, put on a pair of ducks and grabbed her sweater from the hook at the door.

The air was a little chillier, that perfect on the cusp of Fall kind of air. The trees were still green, but the kind of green that signaled the end of summer. She inhaled the comfortable and familiar smell of cut grass and soil.

She waited at the stop, watching birds congregate in the fields, dozens and dozens of birds, flitting back and forth, restless, wanting to head…south…away. She found herself getting restless, uncomfortable. She looked at her watch and gasped. Where was the bus? She called the school.

“But you know he came on the bus…what do you mean he didn’t show? How could you not call?” She slammed the phone down and shook with rage, fear. She dashed out to the shed, and jumped into the truck.

She drove out to the field Jonathan was in. Dry-eyed and calm enough, only her fingers alternately tapping and strangling the wheel giving evidence of how nervous she was.

Jonathan turned in the cab of the tractor and curiously watched as Martha parked the truck at the fence and came towards him. Instinct made him climb down and hurry to meet her. She came faster and faster, until she was running, and crying, control flying, desperate for reassurance....

They called the sheriff. Clark was missing. Lost.

Five hours earlier

Clark watched his mother walk back to the house. He felt exceptionally brave, standing by the bus stop completely alone.

He would have been watched carefully from the kitchen window if a dish hadn’t slipped out of his mother’s soapy hands. He would have been safely on the bus, if a frog hadn’t distracted him, sent him plunging head long into the ditch at the side of the road. Nothing would have happened if a careless bus driver hadn’t rolled past the empty spot where Clark should have been. Clark would have been very okay if he hadn’t decided that he was old enough to walk to school and brave enough to walk alone. He started off with a feeling of great adventure. He felt very brave when he no longer had the farm in sight. He felt the adventure of it all right up to the moment the car passed him, screeched to a stop and the door opened.

“Can you help me? I lost my puppy.”

Clark felt a little thrill—a puppy! He wasn’t allowed to have a dog, not yet. He would soon, though. He just knew it had to be soon--he’d been practicing how not to…to…to be careful. “Puppy?” he might be able to touch a real puppy if he helped find it…

“That’s right—he jumped out of the car somewhere along this road. Do you know this road?” The man looked soft, little. He had a nice smile.

Clark nodded and turned to point a distance down the road. “I live down there.” Missed the man leaning down and grabbing a chunk of rock from the rubble at the side of the cinder road.

“I can show you a picture of my puppy,” the light sweet voice said, and Clark stepped a little closer. “He’s really cute.”

Clark moved closer to the car. The man grabbed his arm and Clark panicked. He could break free easily—but Mom and Dad said not to hurt anyone, not to use his strength unless they were with him…but no one was supposed to touch him like this. He pulled, and the man looked shocked and Clark knew he’d pulled too hard. Didn’t matter, this man was trying to hurt him. The pale face above him flashed in and out of his view, turning bright red as he began to jerk away. There was a shadow over him, and then a sharp stab of awful pain. Against the glare of the sun, Clark saw a greasy looking, green and black rock in the man’s fist—the hand dropped and he exploded—his head, his body exploded and then, it was dark.

There were days and days of crying, hungry and hurting. His head hurt and hurt, and there was a lot of blood, but he didn’t try to think about the blood.

There was the train station, cold, and so big and…big, giant windows and benches. His ears hurt from the noise, and his eyes hurt from all the people and the colors.

There was a nice lady there. She was big and brown and really warm and she gave him her coat, and nice police men. They stopped the bad, bad man. There was a police man with nice eyes and hair like Dad’s and smiles like Mom’s. It didn’t hurt when he hugged him.

Mostly though, he did hurt, his head, his stomach, his…and he was sick. He kept throwing up and it was…bad. Very bad. At the hospital, Mom and Dad came. There was so much crying, and hugging but something was wrong and he couldn’t tell them what was wrong. He just was really sick and he hurt all over. Mom hugged him and it hurt his skin, and when he wanted to talk, his chest hurt.

Finally, the doctor said he could go home, and also told Mom and Dad he needed more help, but they just looked like they wanted to cry. Dad carried him to the car. That was nice. He slept all the way home.
TBC

Tags:

clex,
sv: mariposa

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ladydey.livejournal.com

Awwwwwwwwww, Clark!!!!

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