Spoilers: Mainly for Hereafter, Resurrection and Reckoning.
Author's notes: Huge, irreparable thanks to Encore for betaing. This wouldn't be half of what it is without her.
I have a habit of writing Clark angst and this is just a post-Reckoning version of that.
Disclaimer: The characters and events referenced within do not belong to me.
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Clark remembers when his dad had his first heart attack. Remembers going out to the barn with his mom's cookies and seeing him, and hearing the plate disintegrating on the ground, like his world was doing at the moment he'd rushed to his dad. He distinctly remembers having done nothing but scream.
He remembers hoping Martha would be angry with him for not taking his dad to the hospital immediately, but she wasn't. His parents are never angry when Clark expects them to be, only when he can never fathom why they have a reason to be.
Martha would be upset now if she knew what he was thinking. Even more so if she knew he's been thinking it, in a sense, for the last two years. After that first heart attack he'd lain awake at night and thought about it. Made himself think about it, face it. Face the possibility that this could be it, that his dad could be dead.
So he had. And when his dad had gone in for heart surgery, after the bomb threat had been handled and even after he'd been brought home, Clark had thought about it. His dad could have died that week. His dad could have died, so many times before then, but he hadn't.
Clark had made sure to think about that a lot. He would remind himself of it when he was too happy, when he thought nothing could go wrong. His dad could die. His dad could die. His. Dad. Could. Die.
Maybe, in some mixed up way, that was what had kept Jonathan alive. Clark knows that's ridiculous to even contemplate, even if it's just to himself, but he needs some kind of explanation. He needs someone to blame.
So he has this, he uses this. He sits here, when no one's awake, when the house is quiet. He sits here and blames himself, for doing what he had vowed he never would.
That night, after the second meteor shower, when his parents were home and furious with him, he'd sat in the loft and thanked the stars. For not taking them from him, for giving him a little more time with everyone he held dear. Even Lois, though he'd never admit it. Not even to himself.
But then there was Lana, and being with her. That in itself was better than anything he'd ever dreamed of, and then, without him even realizing it, everything spun into madness and all he could think about was Lana.
And he'd forgotten. He'd thought about Lana and Chloe and everyone. About Martha and Lois and his dad's campaign, and even what dog food was the best for Shelby. But he hasn't thought of that small miracle for too long. And now that has been taken from him, and it really is his fault. No matter what Martha says, Clark knows the truth and has forced himself to accept it, to bury himself in the cold reality of it.
He sits, shaking, begging the stars for forgiveness, because there's no one else to talk to and nothing else to say.
So he does this, a monotonous plea of desperation that he knows will never be responded to. Because it really is too late this time, and it's all his fault for loving a girl he'll never truly be honest with and for not thinking things through.
For that, Clark hates himself. But even the acknowledgement of this can't make him feel better, because he knows Jonathan wouldn't approve.
But like the stars, this is all Clark has, all he can cling to hold back the tears he doesn't deserve to cry, the fear he has no right to let loose. So the storm of turmoil rages through him, and all he does is stare at the stars, pretending his father's staring back.