Progeny

by Smallvillian

Clark returns home from Metropolis to face what he has done. Missing scenes from Exile.

Title: Progeny
Author:Smallvillian
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Characters belong to WB
Summary: Missing scene. What else happened when Jonathan brought Clark home?

AN: This was written not long after the Season 3 premiere last year. They're scenes that I feel should have been in the episode but, alas, were not. :(

xxxx

Standing out in his own yard, miles away from Metropolis faster than you could think the name of the city itself, Clark looked about wildly, a desperate animal resisting its cage, throwing its back up against the walls of an unrelenting prison, the prison of a loving father's fierce embrace.

"Let me go! I hate you! You're not my father! I hate you for bringing me back here! I hate you!" was spewed forth with a venom so vile, the rattle snake that had recently taken up residence in the barn outback would have slithered back in his hole and closed it behind him.

"Not on your life," his father growled, forgiveness clawing its way up into his voice from deep inside the hallow of a fractured bond he would have staked his life on before three months ago, but Clark continued to fight, pushing and grabbed at whatever he could while his father held him tight, pinning his arms against him. His last harsh "let me go" broke near the end, a sad half hearted wail, before he finally surrendered, letting his full weight sag into his father's arms.

"I'm not letting you go Clark. I'm never letting you go." The tender but haggard and beaten words were finally the boy's undoing. He sobbed uncontrollably then, hands taking fists full of shirt, clinging to the man he had fought so hard to escape just moments before. There was a smallness to him, a vulnerability that had never shown itself before, perhaps because no matter how much Jonathan wanted to believe he had had any kind of upper hand all these years, deep down they had both known the truth--Clark obeyed because he wanted to. Now, for the first time in his life, he obeyed because he had to. And the little boy somewhere inside of him that had desperately needed that immovable threshold greedily latched onto it, falling to his knees in front of the only idol he had ever or would ever worship. This would-be god was just a child, Jonathan's child, no matter if their DNA said otherwise.

"Why'd you have to bring me back? Why couldn't you just leave me alone?" His meek resignation and trembling sniffles were a far cry from the petulance of earlier but still lacked the empathy and caring that was once just below everything he said, in his very being.

"Because you're confused and hurting. You're not yourself, Clark," Jonathan told to his son, taking his arm and bringing him to his feet.

"How do you know? Maybe this is exactly what I am." A bitterness still hung at the edge of words that were for the most part filled with helplessness and confusion but even then there was something in the boy's eyes that hoped his father would have the answers he had been looking for...or rather, running from.

"I don't know what Jor-El did or said, but we've been over this, son. You are not someone who would hurt innocent people. You are not the tyrant described in those writings. "

"But I am. I did it! I stole! I cheated! I lied! Don't you get it? I used people! I did it all!"

"I didn't say you couldn't, Clark, I said you're not that person , and the fact that you needed to slip on some strange piece of red rock to do it just proves that I'm right. Why take the ring at all? Are you going to tell me that you didn't need it? That every part of you wasn't screaming that what you were doing was wrong?"

Clark's down cast eyes and guilty face was all Jonathan needed. "You think if you can force yourself to do these things, it means Jor-El's right and that's the end of the story. You're free and clear of any culpability for your own actions. Well I tell you, Clark, it's what you've chosen not to do with your powers all these years that has always made me so proud. And it is a choice-- a choice you still have."

Clark shook his head, vehemently refusing any such notion. "He burned me! That's my father! I DON'T have a choice!"

"God damn it, Clark, I'm your father, " Jonathan barked. "I checked for monsters under your bed till you were seven years old. I taught you how to ride a bike, tie your shoes, drive a car-- and I taught you right from wrong...didn't I?" Though the man's words were harsh, his eyes were pleading.

Clark couldn't bring himself to look at his dad. "It's...it's not that simple."

"Then what is it, Clark? You tell me."

If it was possible, the boy seemed even smaller. "I killed your baby."

And there it was, layed out bare between them. Jonathan swalled the lump that had formed in his throat. "That was an accident..."

"I saw the look on your face," the boy snapped, his voice shouting accusation while his eyes begged for absolution. "I know you blame me," he said, his bitterness losing its sharp edge. "And you're right. It is my fault. I thought I could handle things but I couldn't. When I saw you and mom after...I realized I've been living a borrowed life, a life I have no right to. This was your real son's life, and now it's my fault he's gone. I can't take anymore from you. He was your son and I'm Jor-El's. That's the way it is. It's time I stopped living in some fantasy. "

"Clark, you're talking crazy. Come into the house. Your mother and I need to sit down with you--"

"No!" Blue eyes went wide with fear. If he was angry before, Clark was outright terrified now. Maybe he always had been. Maybe that's what this was all about. "I can't face her. Please, dad." 'Please dad' sounded once again like the child that Jonathan still struggled to believe was now a young man.

Jonathan took hold of shoulders that were nearly level to his own, fully prepared to shake some sense into this prodigal son of his.

"Clark, stop this. "

But his forcefulness was about as genuine as the supposed 'gem' in Clark's class ring that had started this whole mess. Truthfully, the man was desperate. He had lost one child already and wasn't about to lose another.

"You are our son," he said, slow and deliberate, one word at a time. "We love you no matter what you've done. What happened was an accident and that's all there is to it. The only thing not real around here is this idea you have that blood, DNA or whatever makes one bit of difference to your mother or me. I couldn't care less if your blood was green and you sprouted wings tomorrow. I can't love you anymore than I already do, son. If I had to pull the heart from my own chest for you, I wouldn't think twice."

Clark stared at the ground, a single, stubborn tear that had refused to fall finally slipping free from still-wet lashes and down his partially shadowed face, but he didn't speak. "Now, your mother is worried sick about you. The least you can do is give her some peace. Whoever's son you decide you are, your name is still Clark Kent in this world and as long that's true, you will do that much."

He didn't resist as Jonathan took him by the arm, neither did he seem particularly willing but didn't voice any objection which was at least a start. Halfway to the front door, though, Jonathan faltered, stumbling and nearly collapsing before Clark caught him around the waist, holding him up. Confusion and fear quickly gave way to panic.

"Dad! Dad, what's wrong?"

"Just another 'low' in those highs and lows. It's all right," the man said, suddenly short of breath and struggling to stand on his own two feet.

"You need to see a doctor. I think something's wrong. You don't know what having my powers might have done to you."

Jonathan couldn't help but manage a weak smile at the boy's worry. This was his Clark, more concerned about others than himself. Jor-El hadn't won this fight just yet. "I just need to get off my feet. Let's get inside. I'll be fine," he said, regaining enough strength to steady himself.

"Dad..."

"Clark, I'll be fine. Your mother's waiting." Clark eyed his father warily and reluctantly gave in to his wishes, helping him to the door.

xxxx

"Clark..." Martha Kent, who had obviously been waiting anxiously for his return, stared at him in disbelief, as though if she blinked he might very well disappear. Unlike normal children, with Clark that was a very real possibility after all.

"Mom."

"Oh, Clark," his mother cried and took him in her arms. As good as it felt, part of him resisted enjoying his mother's affection. He couldn't, not after what he had done to both his parents. Being home, really home, with all those familiar things around him again was like waking from a dream, being abruptly yanked back into the reality of his life.

"I'm so sorry, mom, for everything, for the baby."

"We never blamed you," she told him. As she held his face in her hands and looked into his eyes, he could only hope to eventually be the wonderful person she seemed to see staring back at her because he couldn't feel any lower or unworthy than he did at that moment.

"Oh, my God!"

"Dad."

A loud thud and both had forgotten anything existed but Jonathan, who had collapsed noisily into a chair. Martha rushed to her husband and worried over him. "What happened?"

"Whatever Jor-El did to him must've been too much for his body to handle."

"Jor-El?"

A weary Jonathan shrugged off any concern from his seat. "The important thing is that Clark is back home with us now."

The last nail of guilt had now officially been hammered into the very center of his heart. Even as his father lay there weak, a shell of his former pillar of health, the man's only thoughts were for him. "Dad, I really think you should go to the hospital," he tried again.

"Jonathan, I think Clark's right. You don't look well," Martha pushed, her hands stroking lovingly over her husband's face.

"I'm just tired, sweetheart. It's not a big deal."

"But, dad, you..." The next "I'm just tired, Clark,' left no room for anymore discussion: 'Don't worry your mother' came across loud and clear. Message received.

"It's been a long night. Why don't you go upstairs and change. Your mother and I need to talk."

"Jonathan, what's going on?" the woman whispered, as she watched her son head up the stairs to his room. "Are you sure you're all right? What is this about Jor-El?"

"Martha, you're worse than Clark." But being blase about the situation didn't rescue Jonathan from being under the gaze his wife's troubled eyes. That was always his undoing. "Look, I went to the cave. I talked to Jor-El, and we came to an understanding," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world like picking up groceries on his way home.

"Jonathan." When she said his name like that--as if it were the beginning and the end of a conversation--he knew he was in for it. "I can't believe you would do something like that without talking to me first. And do you mind explaining how 'talking' somehow lead to your barely being able to move?" Anger had bristled her words but fear and caring still peeked through to show themselves.

"Martha," he started to protest while trying to rise from his seat only to settle back again, still weakened from the night's ordeal.

"Don't 'Martha' me, Jonathan. Look at you. You can't even stand. What did he do to you?" she pleaded, more scared now than angry.

"He gave me Clark's powers. It was the only way." For a moment she could only stare, mouth agape, so he went on before she said another word, "Just long enough to bring him home. He said this was some kind of test, that he wanted to see if Clark was ready for his 'destiny.' " Destiny was said with about as much affection as he had for Lionel Luthor. "You know, for a people that were so advanced, they don't seem to grasp that children have freedoms and minds of their own."

His wife finally found her voice. " I don't understand. Why would he help you?"

"Because he had nothing to lose. I think the whole thing with Clark blew up in his disembodied Kryptonian face," he spat. "He couldn't get through to him any better than we could. He burned the boy, Martha. What kind of father would do that to his son?"

"Is he hurt?"

"No, he seems all right now," the man sighed, "more or less."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He hesitated, unsure of how much to say. Martha was already upset. No sense in causing her more hurt. "Clark...he's confused. He's questioning things."

"What things?"

"I think he feels lost, doesn't know where he belongs. Jor-El is pulling him in one direction. We're pulling him in another and then the baby...He feels responsible. It's tempting to believe that your family is better off without you when you're a teenage boy faced with those realities."

"But he's not responsible. He couldn't have known...We're his parents. I don't care who says otherwise--"

"I told him that, sweetheart, but you know Clark. He takes the world on his shoulders. This is something he's just going to have to work out for himself," Jonathan said, finally gaining enough strength to stand and lay his palm lovingly along his wife's cheek.

"I think we should talk to him. It couldn't hurt," she said, as if he needed much convincing. "Are you sure you're all right?"

The man simply smiled and looked himself over with a quick glance. "Yep, seems everything's where it should be."

"What's that?" Martha looked closely at her husband's face.

His smile disappeared and turned to worry. "What's what?"

"That," she said, putting a finger to his lips then pressed her lips where her finger had been and kissed him softly .

"You're an evil woman," Jonathan teased, his body relaxing as he realized her little joke.

"Just remember that the next time you think about doing something like this again, mister," she told him, half scolding and the other half just happy to have everything she needed back in her life safe and sound. "I'll get Clark," she said and headed up the stairs.

Martha was only gone a few moments when she came rushing back. "Clark's gone."

"What?" Shock must really render people dumb because as hard as he tried, that was all Jonathan could think to say.

"He's not in his room. He's not in the house. God, Jonathan, you don't think he ran away again?"

The man's mind was still racing to catch up with this new information. "I can't believe he would do that. Maybe he went to the barn. You know he goes there to be alone when he has a lot on his mind."

Both were hopeful as they made their way to the barn but that hope quickly faded when Clark was nowhere to be found.

"Damn it," Jonathan muttered tersely. "Damn Jor-El. Damn that key. I wish we had never found it..." Then as quickly as his anger flared, it died. After years of marriage, Martha knew that quiet and contemplative expression well.

"What is it?"

"Jor-El," he said again as if it were an obvious answer to the question he had been asked. "I think I might know where Clark went."

xxxxx

Clark shown his flashlight inside of the old, musty cave then swung it left to right, the beam of light revealing patches of stone as it passed.

"Hello?" The only sound to meet to his ears was the crunch of dirt and rubble beneath his feet as he walked deeper into the cavern. "Jor-El," he called out, only to have it echo back to him. "Hello," he called again and put a hand on the octagonal shape in the rough wall but still there was no answer. "You've never been there for me my whole life. Why should you be now?" he mumbled angrily to himself as he turned to leave.

"Kal-El."

Startled by the booming voice, Clark spun around, shining his flashlight about as though he might find an actual person only to discover a more brilliant, enveloping light all around him, his small flashlight clattering to the ground leaving only the light from the cave. "Why have you come to me?"

The young man squinted against the intensity of the glowing light and raised a hand to shield his eyes. "I want some answers," he shouted back, not at all shrunken back by the awesome presence as he once had been. "What did you do to my father?" he demanded.

"The Earth man you call father came to me. I did only as he asked," the voice answered.

"You could have killed him!" was defiant and bold much like the last confrontation before Clark had left for Metropolis, and as always the voice remained cool and indifferent to his fury. Nothing had changed since then except for Clark. He was no longer the usually-timid, naive farm boy of all those months ago.

"It was his choice."

"Leave him out of this. Whatever happens from now on is between you and me. You got that? You stay away from my family," Clark shot back, standing his ground.

"I am your family. You are a son of Krypton not of this Earth," the voice answered calmly. "The Earth people have done well as your guardians, but you will answer to me, your true father."

Fury turned to hatred as his disgust for those words truly sank in. This being, this entity's only fatherly act toward him had been to burn him for his disobedience. Memories of childhood, of being held and loved ran rampant in Clark's head: Jonathan taking his hand on the first day of school; tucking him in at night after a nightmare; a warm hug when he first knew the true meaning of loss; laughing as they shared a joke over breakfast, then finally, the pain in the man's eyes when he had heard those terrible words, 'I hate you.'

"No! You're not real. You're just a memory! I have a father, and it's not you!" he screamed back, his words more scathing than ever.

"Your insolence is further evidence that you are not yet ready for the path that awaits you. In time you will understand."

Clark straightened and squared his shoulders, glaring boldly into the light. "What I understand is that if you hurt my family, I will destroy you," he warned, his eyes dark and smoldering. He had gained a good measure of daring during his time as Kal and wasn't afraid to show it. Then, he turned to leave.

"Kal-El," the voice bellowed, echoing through the walls of the hollowed out cave. The boy stopped but didn't turn at the stern use of his Kryptonian name. "I warned you what would happen. Your actions have a price, my son. You would do well to remember that. As long as you remain, those you love will be at risk." Then the light was gone, leaving Clark in a darkness he couldn't seem to escape.

Briefly, he had considered getting away to think, but that's what had gotten him into trouble in the first place, wasn't it? There was no use in running now. Besides, his parents would be looking for him soon and there was so much he had to say to them. He just didn't know where to start. 'I'm sorry,' didn't cover the last hour let alone the last three months, he thought, as it swam hazily back to him through a fog of red kryptonite when suddenly one image struck in his mind, a lightning bolt, clear, true, and terrible. He had struck his father...Oh...Oh God, he had struck his father. His stomach twisted into sickening knots as the memory began to come back to him: Throwing the man across the room with no more difficulty than throwing out the trash, the terrible crash as he had slammed into the wall of concrete, the horrible things he had said to him, raising his fist to him and--Oh God, he was going to be sick. Clark scrambled blindly out of the opening of the cave, breathing harshly against the images that coiled around him and squeezed tight, suffocating him like the slithering serpent devouring its trapped prey. Hands covered his face as though to block out the unrelenting images then wiped the sweat he hadn't realized had formed on his brow.

His hands. He held them out as if to be sure they were his own and watched as they trembled before him. Could his hands have actually done those awful things? Even as he remembered it, he had trouble accepting it. To accept it, he would have to admit that he had disregarded everything he had been taught since the first day he could remember: Never do harm. Use your powers responsibly, and of course, powers or not your mother and father are there to guide and love you and are without question to be given the respect that that demands. Now, he had single handedly smashed the very foundation on which he had been raised for his whole life. Who was he kidding? He had obliterated it. Clark leaned wearily against the stone entrance and closed his eyes, ashamed. What was he going to do now? As he stood there, face toward the sky, waiting perhaps for some divine intervention to erase all of his miserable misdeeds, a clarity came over him and with it a more confident air as he straightened and made up his mind . What was he going to do now: Exactly what he should have done all those months ago.

A quick dash and Clark found himself back at home and to his surprise found his parents, keys in hand, headed out to their truck. Jonathan had spotted him first and seemed relieved.

"Clark, son, we were just going to look for you. Is everything all right?" the man asked as he crossed the short distance to his son. The fact that his father seemed more concerned than angry only tightened the screws of torture for the boy. For a moment he just stood and stared, seemingly oblivious to being spoken to when suddenly he threw his arms around the man in front of him--not desperate or hurting, just loving. He would love this man for the rest of his days and beyond. He would be the son he was raised to be.

"Hey, what's all this about?" Jonathan asked, holding his son and becoming rather emotional himself if the hitch in his voice was any indication, but the boy didn't answer.

After a few moments, Clark finally pulled away. "I just wanted to hug my dad," he told him with an awkward half smile, "my real dad."

"Well--I'm--I'm uh awfully glad to hear that. Now, um, why don't your, uh, mom and I go inside with our real son and have a real talk," he smiled, giving the boy a pat on the back. Clark looked over at his mom who couldn't help but grin at her husband, all six foot four of her rough and rugged farmer fumbling and misty-eyed.

"Sounds good."

xxxx

"I went to talk to Jor-El."

Clark eyed his father from across the kitchen table, watching for any reaction and noticed the slight droop of his shoulders. "It's not what you think. I went there to find out what he did and I ended up--well, lets just say he won't be getting a Father's Day card from me," he admitted, not wanting to get into the exact details.

"What did he say?" Jonathan asked, looking down and picking the steaming cup of coffee Martha had just placed in front of him, taking a sip.

"He said that I would answer to him, and he said..." Clark, fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat, " he said as long as I stayed here the people I love would be in danger."

"Clark, every life is in danger each day--every time we get into a car or just walk out the door. We can't live life being afraid of what might happen," Martha tried to reason.

"Your mother's right, son. Life is a gamble. You never know what can happen. You just have to live it well and hope for the best."

"Yeah, but I'm the reason Lionel Luthor is breathing down our necks. I'm the reason Lana's parents are dead. I'm the reason you have to think twice about everyone you meet--"

"Your mother and I can take care of ourselves, and you're also the reason that Lana and countless others are still alive. Chloe, Pete, Lex..." his dad cut in.

"Who would never have been in danger in the first place if it weren't for the meteor rocks."

"You don't know that. Lex's accident had nothing to do with meteor rocks. Who's to say that if you hadn't been there any number of other anomalies would have put those people in danger. It doesn't do any good to pretend we know what would have been. We just don't. But we know they're here now because of you."

Clark sighed and pushed his chair from the table, less than convinced. "All I know is I couldn't live with myself if one of you died because of me, and I don't know if I'm willing to take that chance. I'm not proud of the things I did as Kal, but at least with me out of the house you had a lot less to worry about. "

"Clark."

"I know what you're going to say, dad, but this is my decision," he pressed on.

To the boy's surprise Jonathan didn't argue further, instead set his drink down, looking thoughtfully down at the now half empty cup then back up at him. "I know it is and if I were you I'd probably feel the same way, but I think you should give it some time. A lot's happened. It's good to let things settle before making any big decisions. Everything could seem very different a few days from now. I think we've talked enough for now. Why don't you go upstairs and get some sleep." Clark just nodded and after hugs and goodnights headed upstairs to bed.

"You're not really going to let him go, are you?" Martha's worry was clear but she had waited till Clark was out of earshot to voice it.

Jonathan stood and took his coffee over to the sink, moving about a little slower than usual. "I think the past few months more than proves we can't stop him, if that's what he wants. At least now his heart's in the right place," he said tiredly. He seemed more exhausted to her now than he had moments ago. Perhaps he had been hiding the effect the night still had on him from her and their son. Now was not the time to discuss this. It could wait until morning.

"How are you feeling?"

Again he offered that boyish smile though his eyes lacked the same brightness.

"Super."

xxxx

It wasn't what most would consider morning-- being dark with the rooster still asleep on the fence outside-- but it was close enough for Clark who hadn't managed a restful sleep all night. The stairs creaked noisily under him as he made his way through the house and to the kitchen planning to have breakfast, that is if he could manage to eat. He didn't seem to have much of an appetite lately and with good reason, having been incredibly full of himself for several weeks. Entirely prepared to wallow alone in his own misery and self pity, he made it to the kitchen where he was surprised to find the downstairs light on and his father at the table with a bowl of cereal.

"Morning, Moses, " Jonathan said, poking at his breakfast.

Clark smiled self-consciously at the old, familiar teasing and walked into the kitchen. His dad had always said if it weren't his super speed, it would take him forty years to get were he was going. "Morning," he answered as he made his way to the cabinet and took out a bowl of his own.

"You're up early," the man remarked as he took a bite of Honey-Nut Cheerios.

"Yeah, I um, guess I wanted to get a early start on things. I have a lot to catch up on." Somehow that had managed to sound casual enough as he picked up the box of cereal and started to pour. His dad's rumbling but good-natured 'Mmhmm' as he chewed had lulled the young teenager into a false easiness as he sat down next to him with his meal until--

"How'd you sleep?"

"All right, I guess." Well, that's what he had said with his lips, but his hesitance and the fact that he couldn't look the man in the eye wasn't exactly screaming honesty. He might as well have worn a big, blinking neon sign that read: 'I, Clark Kent, am a big fat liar,' although his father had probably guessed the truth before he had even opened his mouth.

"I see," came the simple reply. That was it? No questions? No prodding? Just...'I see.' It was worse than being browbeaten by his estimation as he sat uncomfortably in his seat taking a bite of cereal. The quiet was no doubt going to kill him, he thought, until finally he dropped his spoon.

"I guess, to be honest, I didn't sleep very well. I keep wishing I could just go back and do everything over. Then none of this would have happened," he admitted miserably.

His dad simply nodded and took another bite of food then answered, "We all have our weak moments, Clark, moments we wish we could take back but we can't. All we can do is learn from our mistakes and try to make sure that those times shape us into better people down the road. "

"So you're saying I should just look at what happened as a growing experience?" he questioned, clearly incredulous to the idea.

"I'm saying you can't change the past. Believe me, I know," the man added.

Something in his father's voice held a hint of regret, but it was one of those times when Clark knew to accept the intent of the message rather than question the specifics of it so he just sat quietly, absorbing that moment. Unfortunately, Jor-El's ominous words cracked the quiet of his contemplation. 'Destiny' rang unwelcome through his thoughts.

"I'd settle for changing the future," he muttered out loud.

Jonathan studied his son a moment then put an arm around his shoulders. "The future isn't written yet, Clark. That's the one thing we can change," he said, giving the boy's shoulders a squeeze, then taking a drink of orange juice and standing. "I know what Jor-El said, but I can't believe we would be put on this earth...or...in your case 'in this universe' just to mindlessly connect the dots. Our futures are the sum of our actions. You may defy a lot of the law's of nature, but I'm afraid even you're stuck with that one."

Clark smirked halfheartedly at his dad's less than authentic attempt at pity then stared solemnly back at him. "I stole a lot of money, dad," he said seriously, wanting to look away but forcing himself to face the disappointment that still showed in his dad's expression whenever he mentioned his time in Metropolis. It was part of his self-imposed penance.

"You'll have to take it back," was all Jonathan said as he quietly pushed in his chair.

"Maybe I should turn myself in," Clark offered meekly, trying to think of anything that could start to make up for the things he had done. The problem was, he couldn't think of anything that could come close.

"No, son, I think we both know what would happen if you did. It wouldn't solve anything, and I'd say our family's been through enough already," the man said, leaning his hands on the table. "You don't belong in jail, Kal does and he's gone."

"Then what do I do?"

"Take the money back, and we'll figure the rest out later. We have a lot to do before the auction. Wanna give me a hand with animal's?" his father asked, doing his best to sound optimistic which only made Clark feel more like the dirt on the bottom of his shoes.

"Sure, dad," he said, taking a last sip of milk and putting both their dishes in the sink. "...And dad?"

"Yeah, son?"

"Kal's not coming back. I promise."

"Good."

xxxx

"Mom! Dad!" Clark looked about the barn wide-eyed and panicked as he took in the frightening scene around him: Blood, a broken chair, ropes and most terrifying of all: the lack of anything or anyone else. His mother and father were nowhere in sight. "Mom! Dad! Where are you?" he cried, his heart pounding harder in his chest.

How had things gone so horribly, colossally wrong? The day had started with at least some semblance of normalcy: Breakfast, chores, packing and somehow it had all gone straight to hell-- the path to Hades laid brick by brick with every day he had spent as coward hiding in Metropolis. His days as Kal were obviously not as carefree as he had thought, and now his family was paying the price. How could he have been so foolish? About to dole out a new kind of payment to anyone and everyone that had been involved in this attack on his home, he felt someone grabbed his arm from behind.

"Clark."

Whirling around to see the intruder, Clark blew out a relieved breath at finding his dad. Dried blood still streaked down the man's face from his ear, and his eyes were large with worry. "My God, son. What happened?"

Looking down at himself for the first time, Clark realized what a sight he must have made, having been at the center of a very large explosion and reeking of gasoline and smoke. His hair was mussed and singed at the ends, and his clothes were still disheveled and torn, but he brushed off any concern.

"Never mind about me. What about you and mom?"

"We're fine, son. Your mother is in the house with Lana," he said hurriedly, taking the boy by the arms looking his son over for himself.

"Lana? What's she doing here?"

"She came by to see you . Edge's men were here when she came in, but she's fine. Listen, Clark, where's that money?"

"It's still in the loft. I've been trying to figure out..."

"I want you to get it out of here. Now. The police are on their way. One of Edge's men is dead and they're going to be looking for answers. We're gonna tell them that Edge came here looking for me. The farm's in debt and up for auction. I think they'd buy that I had a motive for robbery or at least that Edge might think so."

Was he really hearing this? Clark started shaking his head in refusal before the words came out of his mouth. "Dad, I won't let you take the blame for me."

"Don't worry. The police just have to believe that I would have looked suspect to someone. I'll say it was just a case of misdirection, misinformation. They won't find any evidence, not if you get that money out of here."

"But dad..."

"Do as I say, Clark." was final and absolute. Clark had made the mistake of defying his father one too many times lately, but letting his dad take that kind of risk for him, it gave him a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. In a flash, he was gone but not before forming a plan. A stop at Pete's to clean up was in order.

xxxx

"Tell me again, Mr. Kent, how a man like Morgan Edge just happened to be duped into believing a farmer from Smallville, Kansas could be a criminal mastermind." The young officer peered dubiously over at Jonathan, who sat staring back at him with a hard glare from his seat in the kitchen.

The town's new officer, Dunn, was a dangerous man insofar as he had obviously watched one too many Miami Vice episodes and had the common sense of Barney Fife, a volatile combination at least and a pain in the rear at best. The problem was, this time he happened to be right. Jonathan was lying.

"Fine," Jonathan said, standing and meeting the man face to face with the same stern expression," I'll tell you again. I don't have the slightest idea where this man got his information. All I know is that he came after me and my family, and I'm not the least bit sorry that one of his lackeys is dead."

"Dead men tell no tales," the young man crooned with a sarcastic grin, lowering his voice and stepping closer. "You've been arrested before. Oh yeah, I know all about you and your family. They always seem to be around when something goes down in these parts. There's something strange going on around here, and I will find out what it is. "

At that, Jonathan straightened to his full and dominating height. "Listen you..."

"Leave my dad alone." Both men turn in surprise to find Clark standing at the back door of the kitchen. "He didn't have anything to do with this." If a guilty face was cause for arrest, the boy would have already been cuffed and in the squad car.

"Clark, don't. I'll handle this, son."

Dunn's attitude lightened considerably, looking Clark over as though he were a genie in the flesh come to grant all of his wishes. "Well, now, Mr. Kent, it seems at least one member of your family has some respect for the law. Tell me-- Clark was it? What do you know about all this?" the officer asked, tugging at the tip of his hat. Clark looked from Dunn to his father knowing he better talk fast because his dad was two steps past flustered and headed to panicked.

"I... I stayed in Metropolis for the summer. I've been interested in journalism for a while and tried to interview at The Planet, but they only wanted experienced writers so...I thought if I had a big story I could get in. I started looking into Edge's dealings, and I guess he didn't like that too much," he finished sheepishly.

Dunn cocked his head and stared blankly at Clark. "You expect me to believe that, son?"

"You can check around. I've been gone all summer, and I do some work on the school paper." he shrugged and held out a notebook. "I guess he found out about what I was doing." Clark looked back to his dad, eyes full of remorse. "All of this is my fault. I'm sorry. My dad was just trying to protect me."

The officer flipped open the notebook full of scribblings on Edge and his activities along with names and dates-- all courtesy of an excellent memory and super-speed writing. "How did you get these?"

"If I told you that, I wouldn't be a very good reporter, would I?"

"This isn't over," the man groused.

Oh, yes it was. Any checking would lead to dead ands. Clark may have been selfish as Kal but he wasn't stupid. And such a lengthy notebook was pretty solid proof that he had indeed been working on something all summer...even if he hadn't.

xxxx

Laying on his bed, hands propped behind his head and staring up at nothing in particular, it had a occurred to Clark to banish himself to his room for the next ten years or so. He had been so concerned about putting everyone in physical danger, he hadn't stopped to think that hurting them would just as much harm--not to mention he still managed to put them in danger. In between self berating and kicks to his swelled ego, he heard a soft knock at his bedroom door. With a sigh, he sat him self up to welcome his visitor. "Come in."

"Hey, son, how's the young reporter?"

The boy chuckled at the well-meant teasing. but the playfulness of the hello didn't change the fact that Jonathan never visited his son's room, well, not since he was old enough to clean it without the threat of the Board of Health.

"Retired," he groaned.

"Oh, I don't know. You do have a nose for news and journalism is a lot more glamorous than fence lines and pitching hay," Jonathan said as he took a seat next to his son.

"Is that what you came up here to talk about?"

The question had come out a little more curt than the boy had meant it to, but he was too angry with himself to manage humbleness at that particular moment. To his father's credit, he seemed to understand and simply shook his head, but sitting next to him at that moment, somehow he looked ten years older, a man who had taken all that life had thrown at him and just need time to rest. Clark's heart sank.

"No, it's not. Look, Clark...you...you a have lot more on your shoulders than the average person, not to mention the average teenager. These are tough enough years as it is. Your mom and I, we try to understand but the truth is we don't know what it's like for you-- to have to deal with the things that come up in your life, to have to hide so much of yourself. We do our best to treat you like any other boy your age but the truth is you're not, and if we forget, sometimes you might have to remind us." He paused, searching the right words. "The point is that we may not think of you as being anything other than our son who just happens to have some...unusual gifts, but that doesn't mean you can't talk to us about other things."

"You mean Jor-El," Clark added grimly, having nothing but contempt for the name.

"I mean anything, Clark, but yes that includes Jor-El. I just want you to know that you can always be honest with us. It's the only way we can help you."

Clark stood and picked up a baseball from his nightstand, rolling it around between his palms as he stared aimlessly at the floor. "I don't know why I didn't tell you before about what happened. I guess I didn't want you to worry. You've done that all my life and I guess I thought I should be old enough to take care of things myself," he said, looking every bit as miserable as he sounded.

"Well, that's one thing I do understand. I sure as heck put a few gray hairs on my own father's head. That's for sure. Every teenager wants to start testing the boundaries, taking more on themselves, but you do have more of a burden on you. That's not quite fair to you, but sometimes life isn't fair. It's okay to ask for help. It doesn't make you any less of a man."

Clark turned at that. "A man?"

"Well, almost. You still have time yet," Jonathan smiled.

"I suppose I'll need it after everything that's happened."

The man sighed. "Look, Clark, I'm not going to pretend that the choices you made were responsible, adult, or even ethical choices, but it was a small fraction of your life that hopefully you won't ever forget."

"I was kind'a hoping for the opposite, actually," was the answer, duly deflated by the comment on his little foray into fast cars and faster money.

"Sometimes it's the mistakes we learn the most from. I think you learned something," Jonathan offered, putting a hand on his son's shoulder.

"That when I'm a screw up my dad'll give me the kick in the pants I deserve?" Clark answered, timid with a small bit of teasing, not really sure himself if he was kidding or not. That had earned another smile from his father. It was good to have this back, to be just a boy, to have a family to share things with, to love and be loved. That's what had been missing all those months. What good was having everything when no one was there to share it with? What good was wearing the best when you couldn't look at yourself in the mirror?

"Go to sleep Clark, you have a lot to do tomorrow," Jonathan said as he started to stand.

That was true enough. As per their agreement, Clark would now be very busy for the next three months--working on every other farm in Smallville that would have him with just enough time left over for schoolwork. After having taken so much, it would be a way of giving back to the people who needed it the most. 'To serve well is to know humility,' his dad had said and that's something he could use a lot of lately.

"There is one other thing," Clark said, looking up at his father. "I learned that I wouldn't have it any other way." As he stood and hugged dad, it was the one thing he knew for certain.

The End