Disclaimer- My rents own it all, so sue them- not me.

A/N: This isn't my first story, but the first I've put on here. I'm a TC writer only, if you don't like it, stop here, I'm not forcing anyone to read this. I'll read flames, and then make fun of you, so unless you feel like that happening, don't bother. I'll gladly take any criticism; that's different than flames. If I find time, and have enough support, I've gotten a plot bunny to take this further, so tell me if you want more. Thanks. ;)

Nightmare

"No," Clark whimpered. "Please stop, it hurts so much." But they didn't stop. The pricks only became more often and the prodding more painful. Clark had never felt such intense pain before, and he felt there could be no greater agony before death. It seemed the more he begged for them to stop, the more they tortured him.

He didn't know who they were, or where he was, only that they knew his secret and they liked to hurt him in this awful place. They hadn't spoken to him from the time he arrived, whenever that was. He wasn't sure exactly what they were doing- he was blindfolded and could only see black. At first he was afraid that he was blind and had screamed even before the real suffering began. His capturers had laughed at his anguish and only now did he understand why- that had only been the beginning. He had soon come out of his panicking state and realized there was a thick cloth covering his eyes. That had given him temporary relief, until they began poking and jabbing him with what seemed like needles.

After what seemed like hours of this kind of treatment they seemed to give into his begging. They untied his blindfold and he saw that all of his captors were masked and were wearing white bio-suits. His eyes began to tear-up again, even though most of the pain had stopped. They roughly grabbed him and forced him into a small cage-like area. There wasn't much room to walk, not that he was up to that. They left and he thought maybe they were done with him. Until he heard footsteps from behind; and soon from all directions. As soon as he saw them, he immediately flinched and tried to scramble away. They were all holding knives and there was no way he could take them cutting into him.

He started frantically looking around for an exit, but of course there was none. Laughter echoed in the almost barren room at his feeble attempt. He knew begging wasn't going to help; he tried not to sob, but he couldn't help it. As the first knife cut into his now weakened skin he let out a bloodcurdling scream accompanied with his earth-shattering sobs. He felt more knives penetrate his flesh and they had now tied him down onto some cold surface. He couldn't open his eyes and look at the emotionless masks, so his eyes stayed screwed shut.

"Clark, Honey! Please, you have to wake up," he heard what sounded like his mother in all the anguish and he soon found himself being shaken. Snapping his eyes open he saw he was still in his room- safe. His father was sitting on the foot of his bed, looking down at him with a worried expression on his aging face. His mother looked to be at the brink of tears, was sitting next to him, her hand still on his arm.

He took a few ragged breaths and tried to calm himself. He couldn't do it and his mother enveloped him into her loving arms while he sobbed. The nightmare had been too much, too real. He could still feel the knives cutting into his skin and the needles digging into his skin. He shuddered just thinking about it.

It was almost a weekly ritual that Martha and Jonathan would wake up to Clark's screams, and an occasional crash when things got really bad. They would rush into his room and wake him up, which usually never took more than a second or two. He would then calm down in the maximum space of a minute. This instance had been different. They had woken up to slightly more pained screams and whimpers. As usual they had rushed into his room. But it had taken almost a full two minutes before he had woken up. Martha had been almost in hysterics when he hadn't woken up after so long. He could tell this time was much different, even by the look on Clark's young face when he first woken. It was pure pain and panic. And now, for the first time since kindergarten he was sobbing in his mother's arms. They would normally just have him calm down fully then the event would never be brought up again, but this time was going to be different. Jonathan was going to find out what it was all about; they couldn't have this anymore.

After a while, Clark stopped sobbing and knew this was the time, it had to be done now. "Son, this one was worse, wasn't it?" He inquired gently.

Clark looked up to his dad with red-rimmed eyes, the moon reflecting off of the few drops of water still left and he looked like the young boy he was. 'He's too young- only 9 years old- to be holding these secrets in,' Jonathan silently thought.

"Yeah," Clark muttered out, barely audible. He had looked down when he spoke and was now spellbound by his hands. Jonathan knew he didn't want to talk about it, but no matter how much it hurt- which it no doubt would- it had to be done.

"Clark, this isn't going to go away-" in mid speech he was cut off.

"Dad, it will," Clark tried to sound confident and make the statement final, he couldn't talk about it now- or ever.

"Son, we both know that's not true. You HAVE to talk about it. Your mother and I need to understand."

Martha finally spoke up, "Honey, please?" Clark looked up at his parents and knew they were just trying to help. "Please just tell us about it. Maybe we can help."

Clark took a deep breath, "Where do I start?"

"How about from the beginning?" Jonathan seemed to settle in as if he knew he would be there for a while, as he probably did. He knew whatever Clark was going to tell them was most likely nothing that they have ever had to worry about when they were younger. Sure, when they had first adopted Clark they both had nightmares of him being taken away, but nothing about what it would have been to be Clark.

Clark simply nodded and began to re-play the dream for his parents, all the while hoping he didn't start crying again. "Um, well, the first thing I remember is being blindfolded and not knowing where I was or who anyone was. I knew they knew my secret, and they- they liked to hurt me. Um, they kept poking me with needles I think it was, I couldn't see." He stopped and looked at his parents, as if asking for permission to go on. This wasn't as hard as he though it was going to be.

"Is that it, Sweetie?" Martha asked her son, hoping it was, but knowing deep down it wasn't.

"No... um, next they threw me into some sort of cage-thing. I thought they were done, and I was un-blindfolded. Then I saw they were in masks and white suits. Then-then I saw them- I saw them coming towards me again." Martha grabbed her son's hand reassuringly, and squeezed it, edging him to continue. "They were all carrying these knives. I tried to look for a way out, but there wasn't. Then they were right there and started- started cutting me and I-" at this point he couldn't take all the resurfacing memories and broke down, cascading tears down his already raw face.

Jonathan had tears in his own eyes and saw a few of his wife's fall down her cheeks. She was stroking their son's hair, knowing that he himself made his son sob was almost too much. He leaned over and started whispering reassuring words into his ear, telling him he was here, nothing was going to happen to him. It seemed to help and he stopping sobbing.

"I'm-I'm sorry," he stuttered, still recovering from crying.

"Clark! You have NO reason to be sorry," his mother reprimanded.

Clark was still laying in his mother's lap, holding onto her flannel pajama shirt as if his life depended on it. Both parents looked down at their now sleeping son. He had just fallen asleep, as all the crying had taken a toll on his fragile body and mind. He hadn't been getting much sleep as of late; with all the nightmares invading his once peaceful sleep. Though, now they had hope that they would become less frequent.

The End.