(no subject)
10/28/06 01:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle:Mariposa
Fandom: SV
Pairing: n/a—yet.
Rating: 1
Summary: This is the land of AU-ness. This is fiction.
The Previous Parts are here, applying a little powder. Where is not important…
Fifth Grade
Someone was coming. Some one was coming…he tried to walk faster but something was pulling at him, wrapping around his legs. He tried to run but he was going slower and slower. Someone was coming and he knew if they touched him he would die, because what was coming was worse than a monster.
Someone was closer now and he tried to call out for his mom but his voice was a whisper, no matter how hard he strained. He could feel the muscles in his neck swell, feel that rough feeling in throat, feel blood pounding with his effort, but his screams came out breathy and weak.
Someone grabbed his arm and yanked him around and a jolt of pain shot through him.
“I’m going to kill you and your family for what you did to me,” a harsh whisper stabbed into his ear, knifed right into his brain—it felt like someone shoved a sharp stick in there and jerked it around. He was crying and begging the man to stop.
Something fell on him from out of the sky, and it hurt so bad. It hurt worse and worse, and the man said, “You deserve to die.”
He cried because maybe it was true….
Clark woke up and almost immediately wished he were still asleep. The pain was rolling through him in great big gagging waves. He panted through a really bad spike, closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. What could be worse, a nightmare about That or waking up to this? He shuddered, and tried to roll himself off the bed. Buddy was staring up at him from the floor, whining softly.
“I’m okay,” Clark told him and laughed. Yeah, he was breathing anyway. Buddy wagged his tail and tilted his head, followed Clark when he staggered to the bathroom.
Clark sipped at water, afraid to put too much in his stomach. He tried to be as quiet as he could, but as he tossed the cup into the wastebasket, he heard the click of the door opening behind him. He jerked around and for a moment, the thrill of horror that raced through him paralyzed every muscle. The relief that flooded him at seeing his dad’s face almost dropped him to the ground. The immediate grinding spike of pain made him gasp.
His dad looked horrified, “Shit, Clark, what is it?” he grabbed him, held his shaking arms. Clark figured he didn’t even know he’d cursed. Gosh. He sat abruptly on the floor, too shaky to stand.
“Dad…Dad…” he felt a huge wave of embarrassment, because he knew he wasn’t going to be able to keep from throwing up on his dad, and almost the instant he had the thought—he did.
“Oh boy, this is a bad one, hunh, Sport? Don’t worry, it’s okay. Don’t cry…”
His dad sat on the floor and held him, rocked him. “It’s okay. Dad’s here.”
“Dad, the man…the man…” He could feel his dad go rigid. “I had a dream.”
“He can’t ever hurt you again son, never again. He’s dead, okay? Some other bad men in the prison killed him.” Dad leaned back, locked down into Clark’s eyes, wiped damp hair from his face. “We never wish for someone to be dead son, but it happened, and I’m not sad. You’re safe. He can never touch you, understand?”
Clark’s head still pounded, it hurt and it felt like it was stuffed with cotton at the same time. He heard his dad, and wished what he said made him feel better. The man could never hurt him again. But the hurt he already had wouldn’t go away. He sighed, and leaned into his dad. That man took something important away. His dream friend tried to tell him sometimes. He just wished he knew what it was.
******
Jonathan cleaned Clark and himself up, gave him a couple of pills and led him back to bed. He tucked him in and kissed him goodnight, managed not to step on Buddy on his way out.
He went back into the bathroom, and stared at himself for a long, long time in the mirror. He stared into his own eyes and thought, ‘I’m glad that monster is dead. I’m glad he’s dead; I hope it hurt so fucking much. I hope he got what he did to Clark and I hope it took him a long time to die.’ A tear splashed into the sink. He inhaled a deep long breath and let it out slowly. Once, twice, until he felt…balanced again.
He knew damn well Martha was up, and only sheer willpower was keeping her in bed. He smiled a little lop-sided smile. Nice of her to trust him. When Clark was younger, she always intervened. He understood it to a certain extent—he’d been so angry, it was hard for him to be soft with Clark. Clark needed their love, not their anger at that bastard, or what had happened.
He shook his head, He was heartily glad that pervert was dead. He wished all perverts like that a miserable death—hoped they rotted in hell.
******
Clark walked on the high side of the road, trying to avoid crunching through the cinders and watched Pete walk along, kicking rocks and tossing his baseball up and down. It was a warm day, warm enough that Pete left his jacket open and had his gloves crammed into his pocket.
“What are you gonna do for Easter?” Pete asked him. “Are you coming to church with us, or not?”
“Probably. I talked to my mom about it. She seemed okay with it. Are you sure your mom doesn’t mind me coming for dinner?”
“I already told you,” Pete said impatiently. “My mom said she was fine with it. Now, don’t forget you have to wear a tie, and not jeans.” Pete stumbled a little and Clark caught him, set him on his feet again and neither of them noticed how quickly Clark moved, or how easily Clark caught him. A sharp jab of pain between his eyes made him stop, and lean his hands on his knees.
“Wow. Wow. Hold on a minute, Pete.” He swallowed hard a time or two, waiting for the nausea to pass.
Pete stopped, frowning at Clark sympathetically. “Are you—you getting one of those headaches, Cee? We can sit down, if you want.” He pointed over towards the school ground, and Clark nodded.
They strolled over to the swings there, and sat, kicking their feet in the dirt under the swings. Pete stared up into the overcast sky. He was thinking hard, Clark could see that. He opened and shut his mouth a time or two, and Clark took pity on him.
“What do you want to know, Pete?” He closed his eyes, tilted his head back and pushed off, letting the swing carry him. He had a feeling what was on Pete’s mind. He hadn’t asked him about anything since they were little kids. He felt the wind ruffle his hair as he pushed off hard, heard Pete’s voice from far away.
“What happened to you, Cee? Was it really bad? ‘Cause…sometime…sometime you cry in your sleep.”
Clark felt the question like a blow; Pete could have punched him in the gut, the way it felt. He had no words to describe what it was, so he just said, “I was scared. It was dark, and I don’t remember much but being scared.” His words echoed oddly in his head as he spoke. He wanted to tell Pete about the other little boy, the one in his dreams, the one that kept telling him he lost something. But he didn’t want Pete to think he was crazy, so he kept quiet.
They swung a bit, with nothing but the sound of the breeze in the still bare trees to cut the silence. After a bit Pete said, “I’m sorry.” He shivered, and zipped his jacket shut.
Clark pulled his hands into the sleeves of his red jacket, and wrapped his hands around the chains again. He pumped his legs and flew—back and forth, into the sky. He sighed--knew what Pete meant but he just said, “It’s not your fault.”
******
They walked off the playground, and headed towards home, where Pete’s mom would pick him up. Right before they walked up the farmhouse drive, Pete stopped Clark, and hugged him. It was brief but hard, and than punched his arm hard enough to make Clark grunt. He looked down at his friend and smiled. “You’re a good guy, Pete.”
Pete shook his head. No, Cee, you’re the good one. I wish I could be as good as you.”
Clark laughed, short, sharp bitter. “Oh no, you don’t want to be me. You really don’t.”
Buddy came running from the back of the house, barking like crazy and they laughed, both of them relieved to be distracted from the moment. Clark knelt and flopped Buddy’s ears around. “You’re a crazy dog, you know that, right?”
Pete took advantage of Clark’s distraction and took over the whole porch swing, making him sit on the top step. “Like owner, like dog, I always say.”
“Shut up!”
“Ha! Make me!”
“Why am I your friend, again?”
“Easy, Cee. You love me!” Pete grinned from ear to ear, and Clark buried his face in Buddy’s back, so Pete couldn’t see him blush.
Fandom: SV
Pairing: n/a—yet.
Rating: 1
Summary: This is the land of AU-ness. This is fiction.
The Previous Parts are here, applying a little powder. Where is not important…
Fifth Grade
Someone was coming. Some one was coming…he tried to walk faster but something was pulling at him, wrapping around his legs. He tried to run but he was going slower and slower. Someone was coming and he knew if they touched him he would die, because what was coming was worse than a monster.
Someone was closer now and he tried to call out for his mom but his voice was a whisper, no matter how hard he strained. He could feel the muscles in his neck swell, feel that rough feeling in throat, feel blood pounding with his effort, but his screams came out breathy and weak.
Someone grabbed his arm and yanked him around and a jolt of pain shot through him.
“I’m going to kill you and your family for what you did to me,” a harsh whisper stabbed into his ear, knifed right into his brain—it felt like someone shoved a sharp stick in there and jerked it around. He was crying and begging the man to stop.
Something fell on him from out of the sky, and it hurt so bad. It hurt worse and worse, and the man said, “You deserve to die.”
He cried because maybe it was true….
Clark woke up and almost immediately wished he were still asleep. The pain was rolling through him in great big gagging waves. He panted through a really bad spike, closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. What could be worse, a nightmare about That or waking up to this? He shuddered, and tried to roll himself off the bed. Buddy was staring up at him from the floor, whining softly.
“I’m okay,” Clark told him and laughed. Yeah, he was breathing anyway. Buddy wagged his tail and tilted his head, followed Clark when he staggered to the bathroom.
Clark sipped at water, afraid to put too much in his stomach. He tried to be as quiet as he could, but as he tossed the cup into the wastebasket, he heard the click of the door opening behind him. He jerked around and for a moment, the thrill of horror that raced through him paralyzed every muscle. The relief that flooded him at seeing his dad’s face almost dropped him to the ground. The immediate grinding spike of pain made him gasp.
His dad looked horrified, “Shit, Clark, what is it?” he grabbed him, held his shaking arms. Clark figured he didn’t even know he’d cursed. Gosh. He sat abruptly on the floor, too shaky to stand.
“Dad…Dad…” he felt a huge wave of embarrassment, because he knew he wasn’t going to be able to keep from throwing up on his dad, and almost the instant he had the thought—he did.
“Oh boy, this is a bad one, hunh, Sport? Don’t worry, it’s okay. Don’t cry…”
His dad sat on the floor and held him, rocked him. “It’s okay. Dad’s here.”
“Dad, the man…the man…” He could feel his dad go rigid. “I had a dream.”
“He can’t ever hurt you again son, never again. He’s dead, okay? Some other bad men in the prison killed him.” Dad leaned back, locked down into Clark’s eyes, wiped damp hair from his face. “We never wish for someone to be dead son, but it happened, and I’m not sad. You’re safe. He can never touch you, understand?”
Clark’s head still pounded, it hurt and it felt like it was stuffed with cotton at the same time. He heard his dad, and wished what he said made him feel better. The man could never hurt him again. But the hurt he already had wouldn’t go away. He sighed, and leaned into his dad. That man took something important away. His dream friend tried to tell him sometimes. He just wished he knew what it was.
******
Jonathan cleaned Clark and himself up, gave him a couple of pills and led him back to bed. He tucked him in and kissed him goodnight, managed not to step on Buddy on his way out.
He went back into the bathroom, and stared at himself for a long, long time in the mirror. He stared into his own eyes and thought, ‘I’m glad that monster is dead. I’m glad he’s dead; I hope it hurt so fucking much. I hope he got what he did to Clark and I hope it took him a long time to die.’ A tear splashed into the sink. He inhaled a deep long breath and let it out slowly. Once, twice, until he felt…balanced again.
He knew damn well Martha was up, and only sheer willpower was keeping her in bed. He smiled a little lop-sided smile. Nice of her to trust him. When Clark was younger, she always intervened. He understood it to a certain extent—he’d been so angry, it was hard for him to be soft with Clark. Clark needed their love, not their anger at that bastard, or what had happened.
He shook his head, He was heartily glad that pervert was dead. He wished all perverts like that a miserable death—hoped they rotted in hell.
******
Clark walked on the high side of the road, trying to avoid crunching through the cinders and watched Pete walk along, kicking rocks and tossing his baseball up and down. It was a warm day, warm enough that Pete left his jacket open and had his gloves crammed into his pocket.
“What are you gonna do for Easter?” Pete asked him. “Are you coming to church with us, or not?”
“Probably. I talked to my mom about it. She seemed okay with it. Are you sure your mom doesn’t mind me coming for dinner?”
“I already told you,” Pete said impatiently. “My mom said she was fine with it. Now, don’t forget you have to wear a tie, and not jeans.” Pete stumbled a little and Clark caught him, set him on his feet again and neither of them noticed how quickly Clark moved, or how easily Clark caught him. A sharp jab of pain between his eyes made him stop, and lean his hands on his knees.
“Wow. Wow. Hold on a minute, Pete.” He swallowed hard a time or two, waiting for the nausea to pass.
Pete stopped, frowning at Clark sympathetically. “Are you—you getting one of those headaches, Cee? We can sit down, if you want.” He pointed over towards the school ground, and Clark nodded.
They strolled over to the swings there, and sat, kicking their feet in the dirt under the swings. Pete stared up into the overcast sky. He was thinking hard, Clark could see that. He opened and shut his mouth a time or two, and Clark took pity on him.
“What do you want to know, Pete?” He closed his eyes, tilted his head back and pushed off, letting the swing carry him. He had a feeling what was on Pete’s mind. He hadn’t asked him about anything since they were little kids. He felt the wind ruffle his hair as he pushed off hard, heard Pete’s voice from far away.
“What happened to you, Cee? Was it really bad? ‘Cause…sometime…sometime you cry in your sleep.”
Clark felt the question like a blow; Pete could have punched him in the gut, the way it felt. He had no words to describe what it was, so he just said, “I was scared. It was dark, and I don’t remember much but being scared.” His words echoed oddly in his head as he spoke. He wanted to tell Pete about the other little boy, the one in his dreams, the one that kept telling him he lost something. But he didn’t want Pete to think he was crazy, so he kept quiet.
They swung a bit, with nothing but the sound of the breeze in the still bare trees to cut the silence. After a bit Pete said, “I’m sorry.” He shivered, and zipped his jacket shut.
Clark pulled his hands into the sleeves of his red jacket, and wrapped his hands around the chains again. He pumped his legs and flew—back and forth, into the sky. He sighed--knew what Pete meant but he just said, “It’s not your fault.”
******
They walked off the playground, and headed towards home, where Pete’s mom would pick him up. Right before they walked up the farmhouse drive, Pete stopped Clark, and hugged him. It was brief but hard, and than punched his arm hard enough to make Clark grunt. He looked down at his friend and smiled. “You’re a good guy, Pete.”
Pete shook his head. No, Cee, you’re the good one. I wish I could be as good as you.”
Clark laughed, short, sharp bitter. “Oh no, you don’t want to be me. You really don’t.”
Buddy came running from the back of the house, barking like crazy and they laughed, both of them relieved to be distracted from the moment. Clark knelt and flopped Buddy’s ears around. “You’re a crazy dog, you know that, right?”
Pete took advantage of Clark’s distraction and took over the whole porch swing, making him sit on the top step. “Like owner, like dog, I always say.”
“Shut up!”
“Ha! Make me!”
“Why am I your friend, again?”
“Easy, Cee. You love me!” Pete grinned from ear to ear, and Clark buried his face in Buddy’s back, so Pete couldn’t see him blush.
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(no subject)
10/28/06 05:34 pm (UTC)I'm so glad you like this story! I do love writing Clark so much. :)