Chapter 12:

Jonathan knelt in front of his sleeping son, for the first time truly seeing the repercussions of what happened over the last year. Even in his sleep, the poor boy was clutching the blanket. His hear was messily sprawled over his forehead. His trembling breaths filled the room and his eyes constantly twitched beneath their lids. Jonathan focused on the long scar that marred his left cheek. Almost transfixed by it, his hand slowly approached the scar, cautious of disturbing his son. His fingertips carefully moved their way down the thin scar, coming to a halt as it ended at the boy's jaw.

Awoken by the touch, Clark snapped his eyes open and instinctively grabbed Jonathan's wrist. His eyes instantly widening with realization and horror, Clark quickly retracted his hand, guilt and fear swarming his face. "I-I'm sorry," he muttered as he clumsily retreated towards the corner of the couch.

Still taken aback by Clark's fear, Jonathan whispered, "What?"

Clark flinched as if Jonathan had screamed it. Bringing his head up, he repeated a bit louder, "I'm sorry, sir," his voice echoing with a slight robotic twinge.

The Dr. Harris's advice instantly repeated itself in Jonathan's head. Leaping in to action, he placed a warm hand on his son's shoulder. Clark's breath increased as his hollow green eyes blinked back panic. As calmly as possible, Jonathan instructed, "Call me Dad, okay?"

Uneasily eyeing the man's hand, Clark nervously swallowed. "Yes, dad," he replied in the same robotic tone, as if his mind just replaced the word 'sir' with 'dad'.

Suddenly the front door opened, revealing Martha, who was returning from saying goodbye to Dr. Harris. Jonathan slowly stood up, silently beckoning his wife to come over.

Quietly sitting on the couch, Clark brought his knees up to his chest, his words still ringing in his ears. Dad...the word seemed so familiar. Trapped in his abused mind, suddenly there was a punch across his face. ''Dad!' What the hell do you think you are!' Another blow slammed into his right temple. He tried to move his arm to block the oncoming blows, but something restrained him. Glancing down at his wrists he realized he was tied to a wooden chair. Terrified and confused, he glanced around the dark room, tears welling up in his eyes.

Once again, the unknown voice echoed throughout the cold room. 'Aww...are you going to start crying again?' it teased. 'Crying is such a human trait...not to be mocked by a filthy alien like you!' Clark shrank into the hard chair, praying for any type of escape. The voice was now barely above a whisper, it's hot breath against Clark's neck. 'Now say it with me...'I have no family.''

Clark feebly shook his head. Out of nowhere, a cold hand grabbed the back of his neck. 'If you know what's good for you, you'll say it,' the voice threatened. Clark's eyes instantly widened at the sight of a green needle floating in mid air in front of him. "I...I have no family..." he whispered out of pure fear. 'Again...' the voice ordered, its hand still clutching the back of Clark's neck. "I have no family," Clark repeated, a bit louder.

Chilled to the bone, Jonathan and Martha Kent stood paralyzed, watching their only child have what could only be described as a mental breakdown. He was huddled in the far corner of the couch, his legs brought up to his chest and his head bent down behind his knees. His slurred mutters echoed throughout the silent room. And even under the blanket, his tremors were evident.

Jumping out of her trance, Martha knelt in front of her son, so followed by Jonathan. She carefully placed a hand on his leg, not wanting to frighten him too much. "Clark..." she said as calmly as possible, even though her voice was quivering with concern. "Please, Clark, look up."

Upon her command, Clark lifted his head, his eyes blinking back confusion and tears. Martha quickly sat on the couch, next to her child, as Jonathan took her place on the floor in front of him. Noticing her son's wandering eyes, she softly instructed "Look over here." As soon as she said it, Clark was staring directly at her, his head bent forward slightly. Tears now feely falling down her face, Martha steadily reached out towards her son.

Clark's breath increased slightly as she brushed his damp bangs to the side. He slowly closed his eyes, not wanting to show the woman the fear brewing inside of him. "Don't worry, Mom's here now. Nothing can hurt you anymore," the woman stated, barely above a whisper.

Opening his eyes, he lifted his head ever so slightly, positive it was some type of test. "No mom," he whispered, nervously swallowing afterwards.

Taken aback, Martha breathed, "What?" She eyed Jonathan, making sure she had heard him correctly.

Subtly flinching from her response, Clark repeated a bit louder, "No mom. I know, ma'am." His eyes constantly shifting between the man and the woman, he continued, "I have no mom...no family. I know." Sure he had passed the couple's test he faintly smiled. "I'm good. I remember." His smile quickly growing, his lifeless eyes disturbingly glazed over with hope; hope that for once they would be proud of him.

The remains of Martha's already broken heart shattered a bit more as she placed a shaky hand over her mouth. Unable to hold herself back any longer, she threw her arms around her lost child. She just needed to feel her child in her arms, to be able to protect him from his own thoughts, if only for a second. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry," she muttered between her sobs. Feeling Clark's tremors steadily increase, Martha slowly backed away, placing her hands on either side of his cheek.

Looking anxiously at the woman, Clark stuttered, "I'm g-good, right?"

Pushing a strand of hair out of his eyes, Martha answered, "Oh, honey. You've always been 'good'."

To Be Continued...

oOo

Chapter 13:

Holding his hand under the faucet, Jonathan carefully checked the water's temperature, trying to think about anything besides Clark. His son was so lost, not trusting anything or anyone. Jonathan silently swore at the 'scientists' who degraded their son into believing he was nothing more than an 'it'. But part of him couldn't help but to think what happened to Clark was more his fault than there's. He couldn't find his own son. It took a complete stranger to risk her life to bring Clark back home. Looking into Clark's lifeless eyes, he saw his own failure as a father.

Jonathan glanced back at Clark, who was standing a couple feet away from him, the dirty sheet wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Swallowing his doubt, the father stood up, his eyes glancing over his broken son, his heart still believing it wasn't real.

As if reading the man's mind, Clark silently dropped the blanket, revealing his bare chest and ragged pants. Hearing the man gasp, Clark hung his head a bit more, hiding his face behind his tangled bangs, and wrapped his thin arms around himself. As the seconds passed like hours, Clark peered upwards, secretly wondering what the man was thinking.

" Clark..." Jonathan breathed, thanking God Martha was cooking breakfast. She could continue living in slight ignorance, not having to see just how degraded their son had become. The father couldn't believe how many scars marred the boy's body or how thin he had become. Slowly rubbing his face with his rough hands, Jonathan snapped out of his thoughts, sure the image would haunt him for months to come.

oOo

Less than an hour later, Clark silently stood in the center of a small room, wearing a soft flannel shirt and a pair of old, light blue jeans. He had no way of knowing that less than a year ago the room was his, just as the clothes were. It had been eleven months when his life was torn away from him, only to be replaced with a cold hallow shell of what he once was. Looking blankly around the dim room, Clark nervously rubbed the inside of his shirt with his thumb, wondering what was expected of him. The man, who was wearing a shirt much like his own, slowly approached him.

" Clark," Jonathan whispered, seeing the confused look on his son's face.

"Not my name, dad," the boy answered, wondering why the man felt the desire to test him. He knew. He learned a long time ago. He had no name. He wasn't human, and only humans deserved names.

"Yes, it is your name," the man persisted, slowly reaching his hand towards him.

Clark stared at the floor as he subtly moved his shoulder away from the approaching hand. He nervously bit his bottom lip, conflicting thoughts swarming his mind. "N-no, I know," he muttered, slowly shaking his head.

Jonathan sat down on the bed as he rubbed his hands over his face. "Come here, Clark," he stated, patting the spot next to him.

Assuming the man was speaking to him, Clark awkwardly sat down, still rubbing the soft flannel against his arm.

Turning toward the boy, Jonathan cautiously placed his hand on his son's shoulder, trying to ignore the tremors underneath it. "Look at me, son." Clark's breath hitched with fear as he turned his head towards the man. " Clark, eleven months ago you were taken away from us...your family. Wherever you were taken, the people there did horrible things to you. Things that no person deserves..." The father paused for a moment, noticing Clark's mouth was opened slightly as if wanting to say something. "What is it, Clark?" The boy quickly glanced at the man before looking away, instantly closing his mouth. Jonathan rubbed Clark's arm, whispering, "It's okay, son, you can tell me."

Clark nervously played with the sleeves of his shirt, silent even though there was a never ending battle in his mind. Peering through his damp strands of hair, he answered barely above a whisper, "I-I'm not a person..."

Jonathan's strained temper finally snapped. Grabbing Clark by the shoulders, he turned directly in front of the boy, ordering, "No such words will come out of my son's mouth! You are a person. I don't care what type of shit those assholes fed you at that place." His tone quickly softened, emotions now moving him to blink back tears as he softly rubbed Clark's arm. "You're my son...and I love you," he breathed, utterly defeated.

Clark tried to calm his shallow breaths as he whispered, "I-I'm s...sorry, sir." He quickly shook his head. "D-dad. I know. I'm sorry, d-dad." Looking down at the broken man, he did the one thing he was trained to do when given a new piece of information. Closing his eyes, he repeated, "I'm a person. I'm a person...a person..."

"Oh god, Clark," Jonathan muttered, as he wrapped his arms around his son. Remembering Dr. Harris's advice about his visual and auditory senses, Jonathan tried to help his son the one way he knew how. He backed away from the frightened boy, leaving several inches in between them. "Is it okay if I grab your hand?" Jonathan asked, trying to keep Clark as calm as possible. Seeing the boy modestly nod, the father instantly took a hold of his son's hand, noticing he didn't flinch. Slightly smiling at the small triumph, Jonathan raised Clark's hand and placed it over his rough cheek. The father slowly moved the hand down his own face, over the morning stubble, and across his jaw. Noticing Clark never moved his eyes away from the floor, he whispered, "Can you feel this?"

"Yes, dad," Clark answered, with a bit more emotion than usual.

His blue eyes glimmered with hope as he moved Clark's hand from his own face to his son's. Running Clark's fingers over the tense jaw and high cheekbones, Jonathan asked, "And you feel that?"

"Yes, dad," the boy whispered.

"What do you notice?" the father persisted.

Looking up with trust and wonder, Clark breathed, "It's the same..."

Keeping the one hand on Clark's cheek, Jonathan grabbed the other hand and placed it on his own cheek. "We are equals. You are no different than me. And I want you to always remember that."

To Be Continued...

AN: So, I kinda wanted a bit of a happy chapter, or at least not one that made everyone cry... I think I succeeded... at least at the end... maybe... okay okay, what can I say I'm an angst writer. You were warned...can't sue. (sticks out tongue) Btw, its 2:00 in the morning and I'm slap happy...if you can't tell.