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roxyTitle:Mariposa
Fandom: SV
Pairing: n/a—yet.
Rating: 1
Summary: This is the land of AU-ness. Nothing ever goes the way you think it will. But really, isn’t that part of my charm?
The Previous Parts are here, ready for their close-up, Mr. Demille….
Two years later…
“Martha, the boy needs to go back to school. It’ll be better for him. He needs to be around other people, too.”
“I know—I know…”
“You can drive him to school, and I’ll pick him up. Everyone knows…he’ll be looked after.”
“That’s just it, Jonathan. Everyone knows. I don’t want him treated like…like he’s different.”
“Sweetheart—he’ll get over it. Everyone will get over it.”
Clark heard the kitchen door slam, and heard his dad sigh. He scratched Buddy’s head and flopped his ears around. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but it sounded like he might be going back to school. That would be nice, he supposed. The thought of all those kids though…what if they were mean to him? It was nice and safe at home, and he liked doing his lessons with Mom, but…he missed playing with other kids. He did miss seeing people, and—being on his own. Besides, Buddy liked people—it wasn’t fair to him to be cooped up all the time, right? He rubbed Buddy’s head one more time, before he scrambled down the stairs to the kitchen, and Buddy ran after, his short legs thumping down the stairs after Clark.
His dad turned to him with a frown. “Hey, what did I say about running in the house? You might fall and hurt yourself.”
Clark nodded. “Sorry, but Buddy made me run. He did!” he insisted at his dad’s incredulous look, and struggled not to giggle. He laughed behind his hand when his dad scolded Buddy for disobeying the rules. Buddy grinned too and wagged his tail hard.
Clark climbed up on the stool next to the counter and asked, “Is it true, am I going to school?”
His dad put the glass of juice he poured for him on the counter, and frowned. “Were you listening in?”
“Um…a little? Is Mom mad at us?” He drank a bit of juice and watched his dad think about the answer.
“No,” he finally said. “Not mad. Worried. Scared for you.” He shrugged. “She’s a mom. That’s her job.”
Clark nodded and snagged a cookie from the jar at the end of the counter. “I’ll be fine. I’m not a little kid anymore.” He dropped a bit of cookie to the floor for Buddy, and looked up at his dad. “Right?”
“Right. You’re a brave kid—you’ll do well in school. I know you will.”
Clark smiled, and then…he felt it, the tiny creeping crawling sensation at the back of his…head, brain, somewhere back there. His eyes began to go blurry, just a little, at the corners, and Buddy jumped up and leaned on his leg, whining. “Oh boy…” Clark gasped.
His dad looked—sad, and sorry. “Getting hit, kiddo?”
Clark nodded, tears already gathering in the corners of his eyes, his head was starting to pound, but he tried to act like it wasn’t that bad. He hated seeing his mom and dad go all pinched up with worry. It just made him feel worse, like it was his fault somehow. “Unh-hunh. I’m…gonna lay down.”
“Here.” His dad gave him a couple of pills out of a bottle they kept on a high shelf and he swallowed them with the rest of the juice.
“I’ll get your mom,” Dad said as he headed towards the back door. Clark was already moving to the couch, nodding as he went. If he could fall asleep, it might not be too bad….
The headaches that laid him flat had been a part of his life for so long, he didn’t really remember not having them. He didn’t really remember not being sick, or being really strong, stronger than Dad—that’s what they used to tell him, before they stopped talking about stuff like that. Only in his dreams did he run really fast, faster than the horses, or jump so high he could jump right on top of the tractor shed. Only in his dreams…in real life, running made him breathe very, very hard, and there were too many times he spent aching all over, his stomach crushing and his head pounding.
He lay on the couch, wrapped in the wonderful blue and red quilt Mom made herself, his red jacket a pillow under his head, and Buddy shoved between him and the couch. Every time a whimper broke though his control, he got an ear or an eye full of cold wet nose. Buddy was the best, the best friend a kid could have. He might look like a cross between a brush and a hotdog, but he was the best dog in the whole world.
****
The first day of school was exciting—terrifying. Mom was squeezing his hand so hard it almost hurt. He had to pull a little before she let go. He was in third grade—no one in third grade held their mom’s hand. At least not out where everyone could see. All the kids were running to the big double doors at the top of short flight of stairs. The kids pushed and shoved on their way into the doors and he was getting shoved a little, and finally, he moved towards the doors too. He hoped no one could tell he was scared. He looked at the huge gray doors looming toward him and caught sight of something wonderfully familiar—a square brown face, a broad smile stretching the face into a look of care-free joy, and big dark eyes dancing with laughter. Clark felt his spirit soar. He turned back and waved at his mother, his own face wreathed in a warm smile he had no idea was irresistible.
When his dad came to pick him up that afternoon, he was bursting with things to tell them.
He sat at the kitchen counter and watched his mom make dinner, and told her about show and tell, and snack time. He showed her his work sheet, and she ooh-ed and aah-ed, just like his dad had, of course.
“I finished before anyone else, and look—I got a sticker! Scratch it Mom, it smells like strawberries!” He told her too, how nice his teacher was. “And she smelled pretty too, Mom. She is really pretty. She has a dog too, and she lives in the middle of town. The kids who do the best in school get to go to her house for Tea. Isn’t that cool?” he swung his legs back and forth and snuck a slice of sugar and cinnamon dusted apple from the bowl dangerously close to him.
“How can I make pie if you eat all the apples?” She teased.
“Just one slice. Promise!”
He smiled back, and she felt warmed inside. A year ago, she wouldn’t have been able to tease him at all. He wouldn’t have been able to handle it—he would have burst into tears. Everything and anything that went wrong was his fault then, he barely spoke above a whisper—he tried to hide in plain sight all the time. He wore the red cotton jacket he’d gotten from his rescuer all the time, it went almost to his ankles and you could wrap the arms around him two times. Now he was smiling, and teasing back, almost as enthusiastic as he’d been when he was a baby.
Wheezing at the kitchen door announced the arrival of Buddy, all spiky hair and dripping nose. There was another reason Clark was less withdrawn. When they’d realized that he was no longer a…a danger…they’d gotten him this ball of fluff from the shelter. Clark had been the one to name him Buddy. Now he was more a ball of scruff, but he was sweet and affectionate and so tuned into Clark’s moods he was almost a barometer for them.
“Buddy, guess what? Pete Ross is in my class too. Remember Pete Ross?” Buddy looked for a second, huffed and wandered off. “Anyway, you remember him, Mom? From the playground? Yeah. He’s in my class.”
She nodded. Clark had been highly impressed by Pete. Pete’s family was that rarity in Smallville, fairly well off—and African American. Pete was a good kid, thank goodness, because Clark thought all people of color were angels in disguise. She smiled to herself. Pete kind of was. He’d taken Clark under his wing, and that had made a tremendous difference for him. He seemed to sense Clark needed—support. And now, Clark was doing really well. She snuck a look at Clark, tongue working at the corner of his mouth as he puzzled out his homework. He was doing very well. She hoped. Her forehead wrinkled, and her familiar feeling of guilt washed her. No, no, Clark was obviously well adjusted, doing better than they’d ever hoped. He was strong—just like she’d always said he was. Stronger than most.
******
Clark lay in a square of sunlight on the floor of his room. The window was wide open, curtains drawn back and Buddy lay next to him, nose twitching as the breeze brought him fresh scents. Clark had his crayons out, and he was having a good time, drawing pictures of the best dog in the whole world, and the boy who lived in his dreams and could do anything in the whole world, and Pete.
Pete Ross was great; he was his very best friend in the fifth grade. He was his best friend, period. Pete Ross had a big house, and brothers and a sister, and there was always noise and laughing and stuff going on. He had a dad who was a lawyer and a mom who was a judge, and he wasn’t sure what that meant but he knew it was different than his house. Pete’s mom wore suits, and gold jewelry and a watch that Pete said had diamonds in it. They planned to sneak it out one day when she didn’t wear it, and see if they could write their name on the glass in the shed window. Pete said that only diamonds could scratch glass, everyone knew that. If you saw windows with names and stuff cut in them—it was diamonds. Clark knew it was true because Pete knew a lot of stuff about a lot of things. He was very smart.
Pete wasn’t his only friend. Clark had lots of friends at school. He really liked school. He liked learning things, even though he got teased for being so serious. He liked sports, even though he couldn’t play so well. That didn’t bother him too much, because he got to do other things, like the bulletin board in the office, and in the main hallway. He always helped do the stage for plays and assemblies. Pete told him it was just fine, not every one could do sports and not everyone could draw like him, so it all worked out. Pete was smart. Pete liked his old red jacket, he liked Buddy. He liked the farm. Pete made him feel like he was just like everyone else.
Like everyone else. Oh well. Clark shook his head, and Buddy cracked an eye open and growled at him. “Sorry, sorry, let me make myself more comfortable for you, okay? Sheesh.” He rolled to his back, and so did Buddy, groaning in doggy ecstasy as the sun warmed his tummy and his head flopped down over Clark’s leg. Clark let his head drop back too—Buddy had the right idea. The sun felt great shining down on his face. He sighed, Buddy sighed. The only thing that would make this afternoon better was Mom bringing him a coke, or Pete showing up. He smiled at the thought. Yeah. That would be nice.
Clark scratched Buddy’s tummy and thought about how he felt about himself. He knew realistically he was like everyone else, but…there was something in the back of his mind, something he knew made him…different. Maybe not just that Thing That Happened, maybe…he sighed to himself. He just had a feeling. Pete—Pete told him he was nuts, and yeah, he probably was, but sometimes, the boy in his dreams looked like him. Sometimes, he thought the wonderful boy in his dreams was him. Clark laughed, and Buddy huffed loudly. “Would you still like me if I could fly, Buddy? Would you fly with me?”
******
TBC
Fandom: SV
Pairing: n/a—yet.
Rating: 1
Summary: This is the land of AU-ness. Nothing ever goes the way you think it will. But really, isn’t that part of my charm?
The Previous Parts are here, ready for their close-up, Mr. Demille….
Two years later…
“Martha, the boy needs to go back to school. It’ll be better for him. He needs to be around other people, too.”
“I know—I know…”
“You can drive him to school, and I’ll pick him up. Everyone knows…he’ll be looked after.”
“That’s just it, Jonathan. Everyone knows. I don’t want him treated like…like he’s different.”
“Sweetheart—he’ll get over it. Everyone will get over it.”
Clark heard the kitchen door slam, and heard his dad sigh. He scratched Buddy’s head and flopped his ears around. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but it sounded like he might be going back to school. That would be nice, he supposed. The thought of all those kids though…what if they were mean to him? It was nice and safe at home, and he liked doing his lessons with Mom, but…he missed playing with other kids. He did miss seeing people, and—being on his own. Besides, Buddy liked people—it wasn’t fair to him to be cooped up all the time, right? He rubbed Buddy’s head one more time, before he scrambled down the stairs to the kitchen, and Buddy ran after, his short legs thumping down the stairs after Clark.
His dad turned to him with a frown. “Hey, what did I say about running in the house? You might fall and hurt yourself.”
Clark nodded. “Sorry, but Buddy made me run. He did!” he insisted at his dad’s incredulous look, and struggled not to giggle. He laughed behind his hand when his dad scolded Buddy for disobeying the rules. Buddy grinned too and wagged his tail hard.
Clark climbed up on the stool next to the counter and asked, “Is it true, am I going to school?”
His dad put the glass of juice he poured for him on the counter, and frowned. “Were you listening in?”
“Um…a little? Is Mom mad at us?” He drank a bit of juice and watched his dad think about the answer.
“No,” he finally said. “Not mad. Worried. Scared for you.” He shrugged. “She’s a mom. That’s her job.”
Clark nodded and snagged a cookie from the jar at the end of the counter. “I’ll be fine. I’m not a little kid anymore.” He dropped a bit of cookie to the floor for Buddy, and looked up at his dad. “Right?”
“Right. You’re a brave kid—you’ll do well in school. I know you will.”
Clark smiled, and then…he felt it, the tiny creeping crawling sensation at the back of his…head, brain, somewhere back there. His eyes began to go blurry, just a little, at the corners, and Buddy jumped up and leaned on his leg, whining. “Oh boy…” Clark gasped.
His dad looked—sad, and sorry. “Getting hit, kiddo?”
Clark nodded, tears already gathering in the corners of his eyes, his head was starting to pound, but he tried to act like it wasn’t that bad. He hated seeing his mom and dad go all pinched up with worry. It just made him feel worse, like it was his fault somehow. “Unh-hunh. I’m…gonna lay down.”
“Here.” His dad gave him a couple of pills out of a bottle they kept on a high shelf and he swallowed them with the rest of the juice.
“I’ll get your mom,” Dad said as he headed towards the back door. Clark was already moving to the couch, nodding as he went. If he could fall asleep, it might not be too bad….
The headaches that laid him flat had been a part of his life for so long, he didn’t really remember not having them. He didn’t really remember not being sick, or being really strong, stronger than Dad—that’s what they used to tell him, before they stopped talking about stuff like that. Only in his dreams did he run really fast, faster than the horses, or jump so high he could jump right on top of the tractor shed. Only in his dreams…in real life, running made him breathe very, very hard, and there were too many times he spent aching all over, his stomach crushing and his head pounding.
He lay on the couch, wrapped in the wonderful blue and red quilt Mom made herself, his red jacket a pillow under his head, and Buddy shoved between him and the couch. Every time a whimper broke though his control, he got an ear or an eye full of cold wet nose. Buddy was the best, the best friend a kid could have. He might look like a cross between a brush and a hotdog, but he was the best dog in the whole world.
****
The first day of school was exciting—terrifying. Mom was squeezing his hand so hard it almost hurt. He had to pull a little before she let go. He was in third grade—no one in third grade held their mom’s hand. At least not out where everyone could see. All the kids were running to the big double doors at the top of short flight of stairs. The kids pushed and shoved on their way into the doors and he was getting shoved a little, and finally, he moved towards the doors too. He hoped no one could tell he was scared. He looked at the huge gray doors looming toward him and caught sight of something wonderfully familiar—a square brown face, a broad smile stretching the face into a look of care-free joy, and big dark eyes dancing with laughter. Clark felt his spirit soar. He turned back and waved at his mother, his own face wreathed in a warm smile he had no idea was irresistible.
When his dad came to pick him up that afternoon, he was bursting with things to tell them.
He sat at the kitchen counter and watched his mom make dinner, and told her about show and tell, and snack time. He showed her his work sheet, and she ooh-ed and aah-ed, just like his dad had, of course.
“I finished before anyone else, and look—I got a sticker! Scratch it Mom, it smells like strawberries!” He told her too, how nice his teacher was. “And she smelled pretty too, Mom. She is really pretty. She has a dog too, and she lives in the middle of town. The kids who do the best in school get to go to her house for Tea. Isn’t that cool?” he swung his legs back and forth and snuck a slice of sugar and cinnamon dusted apple from the bowl dangerously close to him.
“How can I make pie if you eat all the apples?” She teased.
“Just one slice. Promise!”
He smiled back, and she felt warmed inside. A year ago, she wouldn’t have been able to tease him at all. He wouldn’t have been able to handle it—he would have burst into tears. Everything and anything that went wrong was his fault then, he barely spoke above a whisper—he tried to hide in plain sight all the time. He wore the red cotton jacket he’d gotten from his rescuer all the time, it went almost to his ankles and you could wrap the arms around him two times. Now he was smiling, and teasing back, almost as enthusiastic as he’d been when he was a baby.
Wheezing at the kitchen door announced the arrival of Buddy, all spiky hair and dripping nose. There was another reason Clark was less withdrawn. When they’d realized that he was no longer a…a danger…they’d gotten him this ball of fluff from the shelter. Clark had been the one to name him Buddy. Now he was more a ball of scruff, but he was sweet and affectionate and so tuned into Clark’s moods he was almost a barometer for them.
“Buddy, guess what? Pete Ross is in my class too. Remember Pete Ross?” Buddy looked for a second, huffed and wandered off. “Anyway, you remember him, Mom? From the playground? Yeah. He’s in my class.”
She nodded. Clark had been highly impressed by Pete. Pete’s family was that rarity in Smallville, fairly well off—and African American. Pete was a good kid, thank goodness, because Clark thought all people of color were angels in disguise. She smiled to herself. Pete kind of was. He’d taken Clark under his wing, and that had made a tremendous difference for him. He seemed to sense Clark needed—support. And now, Clark was doing really well. She snuck a look at Clark, tongue working at the corner of his mouth as he puzzled out his homework. He was doing very well. She hoped. Her forehead wrinkled, and her familiar feeling of guilt washed her. No, no, Clark was obviously well adjusted, doing better than they’d ever hoped. He was strong—just like she’d always said he was. Stronger than most.
******
Clark lay in a square of sunlight on the floor of his room. The window was wide open, curtains drawn back and Buddy lay next to him, nose twitching as the breeze brought him fresh scents. Clark had his crayons out, and he was having a good time, drawing pictures of the best dog in the whole world, and the boy who lived in his dreams and could do anything in the whole world, and Pete.
Pete Ross was great; he was his very best friend in the fifth grade. He was his best friend, period. Pete Ross had a big house, and brothers and a sister, and there was always noise and laughing and stuff going on. He had a dad who was a lawyer and a mom who was a judge, and he wasn’t sure what that meant but he knew it was different than his house. Pete’s mom wore suits, and gold jewelry and a watch that Pete said had diamonds in it. They planned to sneak it out one day when she didn’t wear it, and see if they could write their name on the glass in the shed window. Pete said that only diamonds could scratch glass, everyone knew that. If you saw windows with names and stuff cut in them—it was diamonds. Clark knew it was true because Pete knew a lot of stuff about a lot of things. He was very smart.
Pete wasn’t his only friend. Clark had lots of friends at school. He really liked school. He liked learning things, even though he got teased for being so serious. He liked sports, even though he couldn’t play so well. That didn’t bother him too much, because he got to do other things, like the bulletin board in the office, and in the main hallway. He always helped do the stage for plays and assemblies. Pete told him it was just fine, not every one could do sports and not everyone could draw like him, so it all worked out. Pete was smart. Pete liked his old red jacket, he liked Buddy. He liked the farm. Pete made him feel like he was just like everyone else.
Like everyone else. Oh well. Clark shook his head, and Buddy cracked an eye open and growled at him. “Sorry, sorry, let me make myself more comfortable for you, okay? Sheesh.” He rolled to his back, and so did Buddy, groaning in doggy ecstasy as the sun warmed his tummy and his head flopped down over Clark’s leg. Clark let his head drop back too—Buddy had the right idea. The sun felt great shining down on his face. He sighed, Buddy sighed. The only thing that would make this afternoon better was Mom bringing him a coke, or Pete showing up. He smiled at the thought. Yeah. That would be nice.
Clark scratched Buddy’s tummy and thought about how he felt about himself. He knew realistically he was like everyone else, but…there was something in the back of his mind, something he knew made him…different. Maybe not just that Thing That Happened, maybe…he sighed to himself. He just had a feeling. Pete—Pete told him he was nuts, and yeah, he probably was, but sometimes, the boy in his dreams looked like him. Sometimes, he thought the wonderful boy in his dreams was him. Clark laughed, and Buddy huffed loudly. “Would you still like me if I could fly, Buddy? Would you fly with me?”
******
TBC
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(no subject)
10/27/06 09:59 am (UTC)How I love this story, this universe you are creating! Clark is almost a "normal" kid, his superpowers are gone, but he's the strong kid fighting his fears, wanting to fit in, loving his friends, learning to live... He's so adorable and I care for him and I love how you get into his mind and show the world as he sees it, and I love him on the floor, drawing pictures of his dog, his Buddy. Awwwwww!!!!
Have I already said how much I'm loving this?!!!!!
(no subject)
10/28/06 05:11 pm (UTC)