I was watching my Season Three DVDs, and this one-shot plot bunny nudged at me.
Summary: Post-Memoria.Sometimes, Martha feels like the alien.One-shot.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own it... I need a hug :(
Xenos
It has been months since the Summerholt incident. Er, the second Summerholt incident. And Clark's stay there wasn't even that long. Yet it has made an impact, has managed to change him more than it really should have. Clark has always been a bit of a worrywart about the possibility that he might become a lab rat because of his abilities, and what he is. Of course, that's due in part to the sci-fi books and movies he's addicted to, and in part it's Jonathan's fault. I've gotten off-subject, haven't I?
I was saying Clark has changed. Yes; but it's not just that he's the slightest bit more careful about using his abilities. Ever since he came home from the Kawatche cave with the ability to read Kryptonian, he always has a nightmare the night after he takes care of some poor crazed soul that's been infected by Kryptonite. He never talks about those. But ever since his stay at Summerholt, other nightmares, worse ones have filled the gaps between the others.
I've come to bless those nights he comes home from fighting the latest meteor-crazed teen, and the other nights... I pray for the chaos my son keeps in check. The other nights... he never talks about these nightmares either... he thrashes wildly in his bed. After he broke three bedframes, Clark started sleeping on the first level of the barn on a pile of hay. He screams and he strikes out. He speaks to the attackers I can't see, but not in any language of Earth. Sometimes he cries and curls into a tight ball, trapped in whatever horrific night vision he sees. And then he cries out for Lara.
I tried to help him the first time he did that. He struck out at me. I know it wasn't his fault, Clark was asleep. Besides, that didn't hurt nearly as much as hearing him continue calling out for Lara. Again, it wasn't his fault, but it still felt-- no, feels like a slap in the face. It's always the same, when his real heritage is brought up. My gut churns, as if it's considering the merits of bringing its contents back up, and I feel like an intruder. I feel like the alien.
BANG!
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
Clark's having another nightmare, and he didn't come home with that dead look in his eyes that's always present after he's fought one of those who've been infected by kryptonite. It's one of the in-between nightmares that are so much worse. I know I can't help... I've tried so many times... but I still feel the need to watch over my baby.
As I've done so many times since the in-between nightmares started, I slip out of bed, careful not to wake Jonathan. I've gotten pretty good at this. Jonathan's eyelids don't even twitch. I put on a robe and leave the room silently, making my way through the pitch black that night reaches at about one in the morning. The barn isn't hard to find... I know every inch of this farm. And the noise Clark is making could guide a blind person... my poor baby. Inside, I find the pile of hay he's sleeping on and grab an overturned milk bucket to sit down on. I move it so that when I sit down I'll be just out of swinging distance, and then I settle in for a long night of watching over my son.
As the night wears on Clark's nightmare continues. I know I can't snap him out of it; I've tried before. Even so, tears fill my eyes and I wish I could help him. It's another one of those nights where he fights off attackers his mind has conjured up. I wish he'd talk to us about some of his nightmares. Maybe it would help. But he won't do it. I think he's trying to protect everyone, but from what I don't know. What could be so dangerous about a few bad dreams?
He's shouting in Kryptonian. God I wish I knew the language.
While he was shouting he'd stopped fighting, for a moment. Now he's doing both. Isn't there anything I can do? ...I could talk to Jor-El, and he might do something, but I don't ever want to get him involved in Clark's life. He's done enough damage.
No, there's nothing I can do. Nothing but watch over my baby, and hope that eventually he won't have these nightmares. And pray. I can pray God will bring another 'meteor-freak' as the kids have termed them. I close my eyes and fold my hands, say a brief prayer. Then I check my watch. Clark always wakes up no later than eight, even if his alarm clock is broken again. I forgot to bring my watch. I rub a hand down my face and slouch on top of my milk bucket. I won't leave Clark alone in here, even though I can't help him.
I wait for morning.