(2): "The key to a question or answer is?" . . . . "asking?"
The stars sparkled brighter than usual that night. It was a great relief to the blonde that stared out into the universes depths, apparently searching for something. Jonathan sighed tiredly scratching his head, it just made no sense to him. He sat outside his bedroom window (out on the roof) where his wife Martha resided, sleeping peacefully in her mind lost in her own little world, Beside her laid a seven year old Clark kent who was recovering from a most recent nightmare he had. Jonathan hated it when his son had nightmares, it was just as worse having them himself. And he had them; mostly when Clark had reached his sixth birthday, save for he never woke up screaming nor crying just with a pain in his chest and a sort of emptiness that never seemed to go away until he forced himself out of bed to check on Clark.
The nightmares, his own, had stopped since then. Clark's kept going like a bad Hunter rerun. With a sigh he pulled his knee up closer to his chest making sure he would not slide down the roof onto the ground, something he had done plenty times as a child and young man. Usually to sneak out someplace he wasn't supposed to be, although he got caught more times as a teenager than a child; his father was always on alert. Scratching the back of his head Jonathan turned slowly around ready to crawl back through the open window when he was caught off guard by a small head sticking out of it staring at him with its large brown eyes. "H-hiya," Clark waved hesitantly, looking as though he had done something wrong. Jonathan released his breath he was unaware of holding as he placed himself back into his sitting position. He gestured to the empty spot beside him wanting Clark to come out.
"Whadya doin' out here, Dad?" Clark asked yawning. The blonde shrugged. "I dunno," Jonathan replied, offhandedly. "I couldn't sleep (Clark gave his father a weird look). I was wondering . . .," The seven year old climbed out the house carefully, heading towards his father. Clark put one hand in front of the other crawling slowly towards Jonathan until he could grasp his father's arm and pull himself towards safety. He lifted Jonathan's arm up so he get underneath it. Once he was snuggled closely to his father Clark lowered Jonathan's arm but kept a firm grip on his hand. "-'Bout what?" Clark asked curiously. Jonathan stared up into the stars for the longest time before answering his son.
"More or less, about you," He responded with a heavy sigh. Clark's nose scrunched up in confusion, why was his father wondering about him? Certainly it wasn't about his nightmare? If so he shouldn't have even come inside their bedroom and cried about it if his father was gonna lose sleep over him. "I mean," Jonathan paused. "Why would anyone . . .?" Jonathan stopped himself, realizing he was about to spill the truth a little too early. Clark scooted closer, interested. "What?" He said, excitedly. Jonathan shook his head quickly with a weak wave of his hand, he did his best to put on a carefree smile for his son. He didn't want to worry him. "Nothing," He sighed leaning back a bit. He kept the heel of his extended leg against the roof so he would not slip and fall. "Ah C'mon dad, you can tell me ---," Clark said looking around. "Mom's not awake, so you can tell me anything. It'll be just between us guys."
The older man eyed the young boy strangely trying not to laugh at his silly antics, his choice of words were nothing short of amusing. Shrugging his shoulders Jonathan figured he might as well tell him something since he knew Clark would keep pestering him until he got an answer. "If you really wanna know. I was wondering who in their right mind would lose such a special young man such as yourself. But more or less why you keep having nightmares," Jonathan replied swallowing the wad of guilt in his throat. "Hmm . . . I eat too many sweets late at night?" The seven year-old suggested with a shrug. "Cause you always told me, eating all that sugar can make you have nightmares. I did sorta eat that last piece of cake when Mom told me not to."
Jonathan gave his son a mock-disappointed look with a shake of his head. Clark felt his father stiffen at his small "Sorry." This was something he apparently didn't want to talk about at the moment. The boy shrugged mentally; he'll always have tomorrow to be scolded. Clark's pale pink lips pressed against each other as he tried to break the uncomfortable silence his father had fallen into. "Do you ever have nightmares, dad?" Clark asked. Maybe if he focused more on asking his father about himself instead of him it would bring him out of his sober mood. "Yeah. Sometimes. But not as often as I used to," Jonathan replied tiredly. Clark nodded, the sound of the world around them (crickets and the possible owl, if Clark was not mistaken) echoed around them.
The boy thought for another moment as he tried to focus on the world before him, he could make out the outline of trees and the faint light off in the distance. He looked up, Jonathan's eyes were once again staring into the stars: Martha had once told him it was his father's favorite thing to do before he got so busy that he hardly had time to stargaze through the telescope Clark had in his bedroom. Clark pouted slightly as he tried to find something to say, anything to get his father talking. I did sorta intrude in his private time, maybe he's mad. Poking his father in the side, Clark said, "Are you mad?" Jonathan turned in response with a perplexed expression on his face, Clark repeated his question. Jonathan felt his joints loosening up as he lowered his shoulders, they were aching something terrible. "No," Was the simple reply. Then he added, "I like your company," Clark smiled at this with a bob of his had then paused for a minute. Maybe it was something else that was bothering his father.
"Do you ever regret, you know, keeping me?" He asked. Clark winced outwardly at the tensing of his father's body, yet again. That was a stupid thing to say, Clark. Now he's all tense again. Jonathan stared down at his son with a unsurprised glint in his eyes, the boy stared back at him like a criminal on trial. The usual 'regret' question; it came up frequently in their conversations when Martha was absent. Jonathan always expected it and continued to wonder to this day why he felt so self-conscious about their keeping him. He sensed the boy knew there was something different about himself (besides the obvious) compared to the rest of the world and there was no telling when he would become too fed up with it to buy his parents excuses. Jonathan just hoped it was after he matured a little more than he was now. "Of course not, Clark. Your my son and I'm just fine with it. I could never think of giving up a sweet little boy like yourself." It was a simple response, not as strong as all the other times and ways Jonathan had said it, but this sort of reaction was to be expected. There was so many times a person could answer the same question before becoming tired of answering it. Clark allowed himself to be hoisted up onto his father's lap and squeezed in his father's bear hug.
He laughed quietly at the limp-ish way his arm hung over his father's arms that were wrapped around his upper body. "No matter stinky or incredibly lazy you can be," Jonathan joked. Clark snorted in objection nudging his father in the ribs gently so he would not hurt him. "Not true, I'm a good boy, just like Mom says I am," Clark replied proudly. Jonathan chuckled good naturally as he released his son from his grasp. Jonathan averted his gaze skyward noticing the starts were dimming and there was a faint light appearing the sky, morning was already here. "All right, it'll be daylight soon so I want you get some sleep while you can," Jonathan stated giving his son's bottom a push. Clark whined as he climbed softly back into the house, his thin pajama pants could feel the breeze hit his legs as he did so.
Jonathan climbed in after him and once his bare feet were on the hard wood floor he shut the window slightly and turned to find Clark on the bed already underneath the covers. Martha stirred in her sleep, both men paused rigidly as she rolled over to her right side her hand reaching out to feel something. Clark snuggled underneath his mother and Martha fell still. Jonathan breathed a short sigh of relief. Clark watched his father walk around the bed and head towards the bedroom door, he did not like this one bit. He was under the impression he would go back to bed with him. "Dad where ya goin'?" He asked. "I am going downstairs," Jonathan replied. Clark shook his head quickly. "Uh-uh. Dad please stay here? You can work later," Clark protested. Jonathan considered the boy's words knowing they were true, while also considering he was probably still a bit rattled by his nightmare (thus consisting of what Clark described as too creepy for words).
Sighing the blonde headed back over to the bed, he climbed underneath the covers and laid his head on his pillow. Jonathan laid on his back with his head turned towards the slightly open bedroom door. "Yay!" Clark cheered a little too loudly. Martha's head shot up from its pillow in that instant, she groggily stared at the lifted arms of the seven year old, appearing in a least chipper mood. How was a woman supposed to get any sleep with such a noisy child in the bed. "Oh shit ---!" Jonathan laughed into his pillow. He was not supposed to have said that in front of Clark.Cool, Dad cussed! Clark thought excitedly. The blonde received a punch from his wife who had her gaze fixed on her son. "What are you two doing up?" She slurred.
Jonathan remained still while Clark fell back on the bed and hid underneath the covers. "I'm not up, I'm sleeping. See?" Clark snored loudly. Martha cracked a sleepy grin. "Yeah, well, can you sleep quietly please? There are people in this room that want to wake up without bags under their eyes," Martha stuck her arms underneath the covers and tickled the young boy until he begged her to stop. Jonathan yawned throwing his arm over his eyes, Martha just pulled the covers up around her shoulders and closed her eyes. When all was silent Clark peered up from under the covers at the sleeping forms of his parents, his worries over his nightmare were far from gone but the feeling it gave him had been nullified. His brown-eyes darted between the two of them, he slid over to his father and rested his head on the man's chest. Jonathan unconsciously draped his arm over the seven year old.
(FIN)