"This is the first time you've gone downtown, Clark," Martha repeated, as she carried the toddler out to the car. His grin was so wide she couldn't resist kissing him gain, on the tip of his nose. She opened the back seat and put him in the child seat, then reached around him to buckle him in.
At which point, Clark emitted a tiny, frightened wail, scrambling out of the seat and out of the truck, knocking her over in his terrified flight. Jonathan reached down to help her up, his expression changing to bewilderment as he saw what happened, and saw how Clark was cowering against the locked front door.
"Clark? Honey? It's okay, honest," she called soothingly, but as they approached, he wailed again in terror and pushed through the door, knocking it from its hinges. She and Jonathan exchanged worried looks. Clark had had eruptions before, but always over something explicable. "Clark? Nothing bad is gonna happen," Jonathan called, but he didn't return.
They walked inside slowly, and found him clinging to the leg of the kitchen table. His face was red and streaked with tears, and he was whimpering to himself. "Shhhh, shhhh," Jonathan soothed, in the same voice he used when calming a frightened animal. Clark froze, but as Jonathan went on his hands and knees to crawl under the table, he darted away, running upstairs as fast as he could move.
"Well, that's not doing any good," he said in resignation, getting up.
"I think we're just scaring him more," she answered, sadly. Usually, their presence was all he needed to recover from his occasional nightmares or sudden breakdowns, which had in fact been less frequent each week. He'd even started coming to them, to be scooped up and cuddled, but now it seemed as though their coming closer was scaring him more. And she had no idea why.
"Do we wait for him to come to us?" He didn't like the thought of that. Every instinct, every emotion was telling him to go comfort and reassure his boy, envelop him in all his love and caring until he felt safe and happy again, but he could just imagine what would happen if Clark took off and headed out of the house.
They might never see him again. He could run too fast and too far. Nothing could hurt Jonathan more than the thought of somebody else finding him. Somebody who wouldn't see him as a person to be cherished, but as a phenomenon to be studied. Or a threat to be contained. Or an object to be exploited. Since his arrival, Clark wasn't the only one who had nightmares.
Martha knew what he was thinking--she could see every emotion pass across his face, and they were all too familiar to her--she could associate each feeling with its accompanying mental images.
"Let's just sit calmly. Wait for him to come to us." She paused, fighting to keep her voice under control. "He will," she said, but not as firmly as she had wanted to.
The hours that passed were the longest ones of their lives. She and Jonathan weren't hungry, couldn't have imagined eating, but at noon she made Clark's latest favorites, baloney and peanut butter sadwiches, put them, an apple, and more cookies than usual on a plate, and carried them and a glass of milk upstairs, her heart beating in terror at the thought that he might run again. She placed them at the head of the stairs and went down again. Only the sound of continued sobbing told her he was even in the house.
They turned the television to PBS, so that he'd hear the familiar sounds of Sesame Street and Mr. Rogers. Maybe that would reassure him that things were normal.
She buried her face in Jonathan's shirt. "I just wish we knew what was wrong," she whispered again.
He sighed. "Let's look at it again. He was fine when we told him we were taking him downtown. You said that you'd take him to the library, so we could get him some more books, and that we'd get ice cream on the way back."
"And then I reminded him, no running, no lifting things," she nodded.
"He was okay-"
"No, he was excited," she interrupted. "Until we got to the truck, and I put him in the seat."
"Did he *see* something?"
"Not that I can think of." Her eyes widened. "Wait. He didn't have a problem until I started to buckle him in. What if-"
There was a lot they didn't agree on, but each nearly always knew where the other's mind was going. He nearly pounded his fist on the counter. "That must be it. He must have been afraid that..." He couldn't finish.
"That we were going to send him away. We said it was a place he'd never been, and then...neither of us got in, and I started to fasten him in." Her eyes filled with tears of sympathy. "Oh, poor Clark..."
"Okay, I think now, we can explain."
They walked up the stairs, taking it in turns to call to him. "Clark? Nobody is *ever* going to send you away. Not ever again."
"You're our son, Clark. You'll always be ours. No matter where you go, we'll always be there."
"Clark, baby, we love you. We'd *never* make you leave us."
"I'm sorry we scared you. We were going to get in, too, and go with you downtown."
They heard the sobs subside to sniffles, and a tiny, somewhat dusty head emerged from under the bed in his room. His lips were still trembling and he looked at them uncertainly. They both sat on the floor and waited for him to come to them. He finally catapulted into their arms, tears starting again as he clung to them. "Clark, you're staying with us forever," Jonathan repeated, dropping a kiss on his son's head. After a while, Clark smiled, hesitantly, burying himself deeper in their embrace.
***
I wasn't expecting this to be a traumatized!baby!Clark story, it was going to be a baby!Clark meets baby!Lana at the flower shop, but I realized just as I was getting them into the truck that they'd get him a car seat and he'd probably get scared, poor scrap.
At which point, Clark emitted a tiny, frightened wail, scrambling out of the seat and out of the truck, knocking her over in his terrified flight. Jonathan reached down to help her up, his expression changing to bewilderment as he saw what happened, and saw how Clark was cowering against the locked front door.
"Clark? Honey? It's okay, honest," she called soothingly, but as they approached, he wailed again in terror and pushed through the door, knocking it from its hinges. She and Jonathan exchanged worried looks. Clark had had eruptions before, but always over something explicable. "Clark? Nothing bad is gonna happen," Jonathan called, but he didn't return.
They walked inside slowly, and found him clinging to the leg of the kitchen table. His face was red and streaked with tears, and he was whimpering to himself. "Shhhh, shhhh," Jonathan soothed, in the same voice he used when calming a frightened animal. Clark froze, but as Jonathan went on his hands and knees to crawl under the table, he darted away, running upstairs as fast as he could move.
"Well, that's not doing any good," he said in resignation, getting up.
"I think we're just scaring him more," she answered, sadly. Usually, their presence was all he needed to recover from his occasional nightmares or sudden breakdowns, which had in fact been less frequent each week. He'd even started coming to them, to be scooped up and cuddled, but now it seemed as though their coming closer was scaring him more. And she had no idea why.
"Do we wait for him to come to us?" He didn't like the thought of that. Every instinct, every emotion was telling him to go comfort and reassure his boy, envelop him in all his love and caring until he felt safe and happy again, but he could just imagine what would happen if Clark took off and headed out of the house.
They might never see him again. He could run too fast and too far. Nothing could hurt Jonathan more than the thought of somebody else finding him. Somebody who wouldn't see him as a person to be cherished, but as a phenomenon to be studied. Or a threat to be contained. Or an object to be exploited. Since his arrival, Clark wasn't the only one who had nightmares.
Martha knew what he was thinking--she could see every emotion pass across his face, and they were all too familiar to her--she could associate each feeling with its accompanying mental images.
"Let's just sit calmly. Wait for him to come to us." She paused, fighting to keep her voice under control. "He will," she said, but not as firmly as she had wanted to.
The hours that passed were the longest ones of their lives. She and Jonathan weren't hungry, couldn't have imagined eating, but at noon she made Clark's latest favorites, baloney and peanut butter sadwiches, put them, an apple, and more cookies than usual on a plate, and carried them and a glass of milk upstairs, her heart beating in terror at the thought that he might run again. She placed them at the head of the stairs and went down again. Only the sound of continued sobbing told her he was even in the house.
They turned the television to PBS, so that he'd hear the familiar sounds of Sesame Street and Mr. Rogers. Maybe that would reassure him that things were normal.
She buried her face in Jonathan's shirt. "I just wish we knew what was wrong," she whispered again.
He sighed. "Let's look at it again. He was fine when we told him we were taking him downtown. You said that you'd take him to the library, so we could get him some more books, and that we'd get ice cream on the way back."
"And then I reminded him, no running, no lifting things," she nodded.
"He was okay-"
"No, he was excited," she interrupted. "Until we got to the truck, and I put him in the seat."
"Did he *see* something?"
"Not that I can think of." Her eyes widened. "Wait. He didn't have a problem until I started to buckle him in. What if-"
There was a lot they didn't agree on, but each nearly always knew where the other's mind was going. He nearly pounded his fist on the counter. "That must be it. He must have been afraid that..." He couldn't finish.
"That we were going to send him away. We said it was a place he'd never been, and then...neither of us got in, and I started to fasten him in." Her eyes filled with tears of sympathy. "Oh, poor Clark..."
"Okay, I think now, we can explain."
They walked up the stairs, taking it in turns to call to him. "Clark? Nobody is *ever* going to send you away. Not ever again."
"You're our son, Clark. You'll always be ours. No matter where you go, we'll always be there."
"Clark, baby, we love you. We'd *never* make you leave us."
"I'm sorry we scared you. We were going to get in, too, and go with you downtown."
They heard the sobs subside to sniffles, and a tiny, somewhat dusty head emerged from under the bed in his room. His lips were still trembling and he looked at them uncertainly. They both sat on the floor and waited for him to come to them. He finally catapulted into their arms, tears starting again as he clung to them. "Clark, you're staying with us forever," Jonathan repeated, dropping a kiss on his son's head. After a while, Clark smiled, hesitantly, burying himself deeper in their embrace.
***
I wasn't expecting this to be a traumatized!baby!Clark story, it was going to be a baby!Clark meets baby!Lana at the flower shop, but I realized just as I was getting them into the truck that they'd get him a car seat and he'd probably get scared, poor scrap.