"A PLACE I KNEW" by simplytoopretty


Summary: Thirteen years after leaving Smallville, Clark Kent returns for his mother's funeral. Once in town, he has to face the consequences of his past actions.

Rating: If you can watch the show, you can read this (incidentally, SV is PG-rated in Canada)

Timeline: Set in an alternate universe in which Clark chose not to stay in Phoenix.

Characters: Clark, Chloe, Jimmy, Lois, Lana

Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine.

Author's Note: Written for the Stephen King challenge at SVRenaissance. Posted in full on my livejournal but this version has a few corrections and has a different title. There will be six chapters in total. I'll post them as I finish editing them.


Part I

The highway seemed nearly endless, miles upon miles of gray racing by as he drove the familiar but strange route.

It was a car journey he had taken probably hundreds of times before. But he hadn't taken it in nearly thirteen years. It had been thirteen years since he had driven the road connecting Metropolis and Smallville.

Thirteen long years and yet little had changed in terms of the scenery. The sky was as blue as he remembered it, nothing at all like the overcast days he was used to in the city. Most of the land lining the road was still farmland. The land was green and fertile and lush with crops. Occasionally there was a farmhouse, some old and neglected, others newer, others just well-maintained. Nothing at all like the skyscrapers and condo buildings filling the Metropolis skyline, everything packed closely together.

This was farmland. Open spaces and clean skies. Every 50 miles or so there was an exit leading to a small town. These towns of the Midwest were spacious and stagnant. He had been to most of them at one point or another in the past, back when he had still lived in Smallville. All the towns had resembled Smallville. The same construction style, filled with the same people; towns built from the same cloth mold. Nothing unique or distinguishing about any of them.

Or, there hadn't been anything interesting about them fifteen years ago. Back when he was just Clark Kent, farm boy and high school student. He wasn't that person anymore. He had vague memories, sure, but the essence of that Clark Kent had left him a long time ago.

And now he was going back. Back to the town he had abandoned so long ago. Back to a life he had left and didn't want to return to. There were too many memories.

The sign for the Smallville exit appeared and for a moment he was tempted to keep driving. Just drive and leave behind his obligations. He had done it before. But he couldn't do it again. He wasn't sixteen anymore. He didn't have the same luxury to just sail on by.

He turned on his right turn signal and drove onto the exit ramp. A few miles down the iWelcome to Smallville/i sign greeted him. iHome the Largest Meteor Shower /i it read.

He drove into town and wished that he could turn back.

The Kent farm, from the outside, looked much like it had when he was sixteen. The paint was a bit faded, true, but other than that, everything seemed the same. Only he knew that nothing was the same. Nothing had been the same since he had left, he knew.

Climbing out of the car, he walked up the front steps of the house. At the porch, he paused, hand raised to knock. A part of him wanted to turn back, run away. He couldn't, and he had made it this far. He took a deep breath and knocked.

Jonathan Kent answered the door, looking far older than Clark remembered his dad being. His father's hair was completely gray, no trace of his former blond left. He was heavier, especially in the middle and in the cheeks. Wrinkles lined Jonathan's face, too many wrinkles for his age. His blue eyes, always so full of life, were pale and lifeless.

"Clark."

"Hi Dad," he said, shifting on his feet. It had been hard to knock. It was even harder to face this man who was just a shell of his father. The Jonathan Kent he had called father was clearly gone. In his place was a man Clark didn't know.

Jonathan attempted to smile, but failed. He reached out and pulled Clark into a hug. The hug was awkward, Jonathan searching for the son he had known and Clark stiff and unused to displays of affection. Hugs weren't something he received on a daily basis.

The last person he had hugged had been, in fact, his writing partner. But that had been Christmas Eve and Lois had been slightly drunk and giddy. She had threatened him the next day with bodily harm if he ever mentioned the impromptu hug ever again. He had chosen to heed the warning. He was imperious to harm in most circumstances, but he'd bet that Lois could hurt him, if she chose to do. It was better to stay on her good side, even if sometimes he just wanted to throttle her for her impulsivity.

Jonathan pulled away from the hug, and Clark felt a momentarily pang of guilt for his failure to comfort his father. Instead he had let his mind drift, back to the city where he wanted to be. His father had concealed his hurt but Clark knew it was there. It seemed that all he did was hurt his father.

"Come inside, son," Jonathan said softly.

The words reminded Clark of something his father had said to him a million times before. For some reason, though, they just seemed wrong. Maybe it was because he no longer felt like a son. He hadn't belonged to Jonathan and Martha Kent in years. It was strange to be called ison/i.

The inside of the house had changed little. The living room had a new couch and a new TV but there didn't appear to be any other changes. The color was still the same, as were the pictures of him as a child on the fireplace mantel. There was a more recent picture of his parents, one that showed them smiling. Their smiles didn't quite reach their eyes and Clark knew he was one of the reasons.

With one last glance at the new photo, Clark turned and walked down the hallway to the kitchen. He could hear his father in that room, could hear the scrapping of a kitchen table chair as his dad sat down. He could hear the heavy sigh his dad emitted.

He paused in the doorway of the kitchen. The kitchen had been the center of the Kent family life in many ways. One of them had almost always been in the kitchen. The kitchen had always been alive and warm. The kitchen felt different now. Dead somehow, empty and void of the warmth that had characterized the kitchen ten years earlier.

"How are you holding up?" Clark asked, wincing at the words the moment they left his mouth. Here he was, a reporter to The Daily Planet, and all he could come up with were meaningless words.

Jonathan's voice was tired when he answered. "I've been better, son." His gaze went downwards, towards the table.

For a second, Clark wondered why his dad kept calling him ison/i. It wasn't something that his dad had done before.

"So…." Clark began before trailing off. Nothing came to his mind to follow his so. His mind was as empty as the kitchen, although neither was empty in actuality. His mind was racing, but everything was tumbled together.

Jonathan saved him from having to come up with a conversation starter. "You should go get dressed. We need to leave in a little more than thirty minutes." He looked up, his face expressionless. "I'm sure you'll want a shower. It's a long drive."

Clark nodded. He was grateful for the escape route his dad had just provided him. He schooled his expression to neutral. He knew it really didn't matter. His dad had already seen through him, knew that he was uncomfortable and didn't want to be here.

"My suit's in the car. I'll go get it. Then I'll shower."

He turned and left the kitchen swiftly, fighting the urge to slip into super-speed. He was sure that his dad wouldn't want a reminder of what had taken his son away in the first place. He had already vowed not to use his powers during this trip, just like he had vowed to make sure that Superman wouldn't be mentioned.

No talk about aliens or superheroes or anything of that sort. He'd play the dutiful son role. He'd go to the funeral and stay for a few days. He'd try to convince his father to sell the farm and move to Metropolis, like any good son would. His dad would refuse, of course, and in a few days he could go back to Metropolis.

That was the plan.


The weather was too perfect for a funeral.

The sky was an azure blue. A few white fluffs of clouds drifted lazily in the sky but otherwise the sky was just an endless stretch of blue. The sun was out and a light early autumn breeze kept the temperature moderate.

Clark was studiously avoiding looking at anyone, eyes focused at the headstone. He had managed to avoid talking to anyone before the church ceremony by ducking into the washroom. He had driven his own car to the cemetery, bypassing riding with his father.

The pastor finished his speech, a touching piece about life after death that did little to tug at Clark's heart. He didn't believe in an afterlife. There was just this life.

Jonathan moved forward to lay his flower on top of his wife's coffin. Clark followed him, laying his own white rose on to his mother's coffin. His eyes flickered to the ground and then back to the headstone, reading the inscription. iMartha Anne Kent, Beloved Wife and Mother/i.

He walked away from the tiny crowd of people. The funeral service at the church had been full. Only a few people had come to the cemetery to see the final resting place of Martha Anne Kent. His dad, a few family friends, and himself.

The cemetery ground was green grass. It looked alarmingly green. It was a green that Clark rarely saw in Metropolis.

Someone came up behind him. They didn't say anything for a long moment, just stared at his back. He wished that the person would just go away. He didn't feel like talking. He didn't want any false platitudes or any empty sympathies.

"Hey Clark."

He sighed. The person hadn't got the message that he didn't want to talk. He just wanted to be by himself. But of course no one would let him have his wish, especially her.

"Hello Chloe," he said as he turned around.

The girl he had known in high school had been replaced by the woman standing in front on him. Her hair was still short and blond, but the color was a darker blond and it fell to her shoulders in loose curls. She wore bangs that framed her green eyes and made her look more feminine than she had back in high school. She wore black trousers and a while blouse, looking far more professional than he had ever seen her.

Chloe smiled at him, but the smile was tight, almost forced-looking. "I'd ask how you are but that would be a stupid question, now wouldn't it?"

He almost smiled at her statement. She didn't look like the Chloe he had known but her voice was the same. He chose not to answer her rhetorical question. Instead, he said, "You look good."

"Thank you," she murmured. "You do too. I guess Metropolis agrees with you." She said it softly, with barely a hint of bitterness.

He didn't say anything, sensing a reply wasn't required of him. And even if a reply had been required, Clark would have still stayed quiet. There wasn't much he could say anyways.

"How long are you staying for?"

"Only a few days. I have to get back to work."

Clark shifted on his feet, feeling the warm sun beat down on his neck. The tie around his neck felt constricting, even though he wore a similar tie everyday to work and it never bothered him there.

"Before you go, we should have coffee, catch up."

Chloe's words had caught him off-guard. He hadn't expected her to want that. He had expected her to refuse to speak to him. Then again, when had Chloe ever done as expected? Although he could guess what she wanted to catch-up on, and a large part of him wanted to say no.

She didn't let him. "Tomorrow, at three, at the Talon."

It wasn't a suggestion or even an offer. It was a statement of how things were going to go. He could have tried to argue but he remembered how stubborn Chloe had been in high school. "Three o'clock at the Talon tomorrow, got it."

"Good," she said before turning on her heel and heading towards his father. Clark watched as his dad embraced Chloe. He saw her mouth move but refused to eavesdrop on what she was saying.

Instead he just watched and wondered if agreeing to meet with Chloe had been a good idea. It would have been better if Chloe would have just stayed in the past.


Clark spent the night at the farm in his old bedroom, working on an article. He had brought his laptop with him and spent the early evening putting the finishing touches on his latest article. Then, once he was sure his dad was asleep, he pulled on his Superman suit and had flew to Metropolis to be readily available if anything came up. He flew back to Smallville at four in the morning, momentarily content that Metropolis was safe.

He fell into his childhood bed. His parents had never changed his room and so it looked almost exactly as it had when he had left. Only the bedding on his bed was different. Everything had been kept the same, a shrine to the Clark Kent of age sixteen. He would have gutted the room if he had been his parents. They had chosen to keep his room the same. It was like he had never left, like he was Peter Pan and still a child.

In the morning, he made breakfast. There were few chores to be done now. Most of the land had been sold off five years ago. His dad had gotten simply too old to continue running the farm. Farming had also become more costly.

So the farm was no longer functional, but the house remained the same. Physically, at least, the house was the same.

But the house no longer felt the same. The warmth Clark remembered was gone. Not physical warmth, but the type of warmth harder to quantify. A warmth either present or not present, no middle ground to be had. And the warmth which had once existed no longer existed, and he knew he had played a part in that.

Knew he was partially responsible, and yet knew too that he would have made the same decision he had thirteen years ago. His childhood home had lost something vital, but Clark couldn't imagine making a different decision even with this knowledge of what his decision to leave permanently had cost.

He didn't like being confronted with the costs of his actions. Not only for the obvious reasons, but also because it forced him to think about the choices he had made, forced him to re-evaluate his life. He didn't necessarily like the conclusion. He didn't necessarily want to know he would make the same decisions he had made so many years ago.


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