Chapter 23:

"Mr. Kent," Cassie greeted as she held out her hand for him to shake.

Jonathan enthusiastically shook the psychologist's hand. "Please, call me Jonathan," he stated. Usually he was against any type of mental tampering, such as psychology or therapy. But after what his son had been though, he bit his tongue against any of his previous prejudices, willing to accept any type of help. What good was bringing Clark back home if they failed him now?

"Of course, Jonathan," Cassie replied casually as she tied her hair up in her signature loose pony-tail. Afterwards, she subtly eyed the kitchen table, wanting to keep the discussion comfortable and relaxed for both of them.

Noticing the woman's hint, Jonathan shook his head at his own idiocy. "Of course, please, take a seat."

"Thank you," Cassie smiled as she pulled out a chair.

Eager to get to the point, the father asked as he sat down, "So, how was he?"

"To be completely honest with you, Clark is recovering at an unheard of pace," Dr. Harris started, trying to tone down her pride and enthusiasm for the boy. The last thing she wanted to do was raise the man's hopes, only to have him be disappointed. "But, we still have a long way to go," she warned as she folded her arms across the table.

"Well, Clark has always been...unique," Jonathan proudly commented, smiling at the doctor's good news.

Placing a strand of hair behind her ear, Cassie candidly stated, "That's what worries me, Jonathan. I only know the tendencies of the human brain, anything else is just an educated guess." Her eyebrows raised with concern, she continued never breaking eye-contact, "For all we know, Clark could have a relapse any second."

The realization hitting him full force, Jonathan leaned back in his chair. The thought never occurred to him. He spent so much of his life considering Clark as human as the next person, it was hard to think otherwise, especially when his son was so human at heart. Glancing back up at the woman, the father nervously whispered, "Is it likely?"

"I honestly have no idea," the doctor answered, her voice soft with concern. Trying to turn the conversation on a more positive note, Cassie continued, "What I can say though is that Clark is remarkably like a typical human being, just...advanced. Therefore, his healing will most likely continue to be the same way."

Understanding the doctor's words but not the message behind them, the farmer curiously asked, "What does that mean?"

"Pretty much, at this point, all I can tell you to do is rebuild his security," Cassie bluntly stated. She bit her thumb nail, trying the best way to word the next suggestion. "Right now, he's regaining much of his memory back through flashbacks, but with that comes unpleasant flashbacks of his time at the laboratory." She leaned forward before continuing with the next part. "Even though this may be frightening at times, encourage him. He must remember his past, even if it is haunted."

In the adjoining room, Martha happily sat with her son playing a game of Yahtzee. When Dr. Harris came in, she asked her to play a loud game with Clark in the family room while she talked to Mr. Kent. Even though Martha and Jonathan thought it was an odd request, Martha complied, knowing it was probably just a way to distract Clark while she talked with Jonathan. She quietly watched as Clark threw the dice in the box, getting his fourth 'six'. As casually as possible, Martha merrily commented, "You were always better at this game than me."

Clark remained silent as he picked up the dice and marked the 'four-of-a-kind' box on his pad. He casually handed the dice to his mother, his eyes never leaving his pad. He intently watched as his mom tossed the dice into the box. "We used to play this together?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Smiling at her son's random but settle outburst, Martha proudly answered, "Yup, especially in the winter." She paused for a moment, trying to remember any detail that may trig his memory. "We would sit right by the fireplace, since John...Dad was so against turning on the furnace," she joked as she eyed the empty stone hearth.

"Oh," Clark breathed as he hung his head a bit more.

Not wanting to draw too much attention to his memory loss, Martha threw the dice again. "I remember one Christmas Eve we played this...oh God, it must have been something like-"

"Five hours," Clark softly chimed in. "A new record."

Her eyes wide with surprise, Martha could only stare at her son. Finally regaining her composure, Martha muttered, "Yeah," as she blinked back tears. She slowly reached her hand outward and brushed Clark's hair out of his face. "You remember?" His eyes never leaving the forgotten dice in front of him, he slightly nodded. "What do you remember?" Martha calmly asked, remembering what Dr. Harris said about the tone of their questions. Clark merely shrugged in response. Softly rubbing his shoulder, Martha lightly urged, "Well, you must remember something."

Biting his bottom lip, Clark closed his eyes, searching his mind for any type of detail to please his mother. She deserved so much, yet he could give her so little. It wasn't fair. He wanted to make her proud of him, even if it was only for a moment. Yet, the harder he tried, the more stubborn his mind became. Clenching his eyes shut, he tried to think of something...anything. He had to. He had to make them proud. He had to gain their acceptance. Be right...be good. Be anything. Be something.

Noticing Clark's breathing was becoming harsh as if he was exerting himself, Martha quickly became worried. "Clark, open your eyes," she instructed as she moved in front of him. At her command, his eyes shot open, wide with surprise. "Clark?" Martha asked as she brushed a couple stray strands of hair out of his face.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as he hung his head.

Martha instantly placed her hand under his chin and lifted his head. "You have nothing to sorry for. I'm proud of you," she stated, genuinely smiling.

"Really?" Clark asked, his green eyes wide with hope.

"Of course."

To Be Continued...

oOo

Chapter 24:

Like a fly on the wall, Cassie quietly observed as the Kent family silently ate their dinner. The only noise that could be heard throughout the house was the occasional awkward cough and the Grandfather clock slowly ticking the seconds away. At first, Cassie opposed to eating with the family, not wanting to impose on their valuable time together, but when they insisted, she realized it would be a great opportunity to watch the group function. Yet, once dinner was served, an awkward stillness settled over the table, and the silence was starting to get to her. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but luckily Martha beat her to it.

"More mashed potatoes, anyone?" she offered as she held p the bowl.

"No, thank you," Cassie answered covering her moth as she swallowed another bite of chicken.

Martha looked around the table in earnest. Jonathan politely held up his hand, waving them away. "Clark?" Martha asked as she gestured towards the bowl.

The boy had barely moved since he sat down. He had been stealthily eating his food, hoping he would go unnoticed. "No, thank you," he muttered, his eyes never leaving his plate.

Cassie watched as Martha put the bowl down, defeated. Like a heavy fog, the silence settled over the family once more. Shifting in her seat. Cassie couldn't help but wonder what their dinners were like a year ago, before an unknown force would tear the family apart. She was sure, much like their house, their family was the symbol of perfection. Clark would talk about his day at school. Afterwards, Jonathan would bring up a list of chores Clark needed to complete. Meanwhile, Martha would make sure everything was cooked to perfection. Realizing her own absurdity, Cassie shook the image out of her head. No family behaved like that, except for the ones in fifties sitcoms. She, of all people, should know every family had their problems, no matter how perfect they appeared.

All of the sudden, Cassie felt a pang in her heart. Look at the sullen parents, she saw her own parents in their seats, looking at their child with unspoken sympathy. She could still remember the endless hours sitting in front of her mother and father, pretending she couldn't feel their eyes on her. She constantly rearranged the food on her plate, like Clark was doing now, as the image of her brother's death played over and over in her head. She finally realized what the lab at done. They tore a family apart, leaving nothing but the remains, and she was a part of it.

Noticing the sick look on the girl's face, Martha asked, "Cassie, are you feeling alright?"

"Y-Yes, fine," Cassie rattled off, snapping out of her stupor. Desperate to change the subject, she complimented, "This is a lovely home you have here."

"Why, thank you," Martha smiled. "Even though it's silly of me to take credit for it, it's been in Jonathan's family for years."

Glad to find an opening for a conversation, Cassie said, "Oh really? So it's like a heirloom."

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," Martha answered as she slightly nodded. Turning her attention towards the empty plates, she asked, "Is everybody done?" as she stood up. Seeing her husband and Cassie nod, she grabbed the plates and placed them in the sink.

Cassie politely wiped her mouth with the napkin from her lap and placed it on the table. "Thank you. It was very delicious."

"It was no trouble at all," Martha commented as she turned back towards the table. "Clark, are you done?" she asked, eyeing his half-eaten chicken. She waited a couple second for a response, yet he remained motionless. Trying to get a better look of his face, the mother hunched over and brushed a couple strands of hair away from his eyes. "Clark?"

Instantly, his head shot up, blinking surprise out of his eyes. "Y-Yes?" he softly questioned, glancing towards his mother.

"Are you done, sweetheart?" she asked again as she placed her hand on his plate.

Clark looked down at his plate for a second, as if he was seriously debating the answer. "Y...Yes. Thank you," he answered, placing his fork and his knife on the plate, so it would be easier for the woman to take it to the sink.

Cassie casually observed Clark as he closed himself off from the table. Tilting her head, she noticed the dark circles around his eyes. As if he felt her eyes on him, Clark bent his head down even further, hiding his tired eyes behind a curtain of bangs. "You look tired, Clark," Cassie commented as she cautiously laid her hand on his shoulder. "Do you want to go to sleep?"

Wrapping his arms around himself, Clark answered barely above a whisper, "Yes, please."

Cassie evenly rubbed his tense shoulder. "Well, if your tired, just go to bed. You don't have to ask."

Clark peered through his long bangs at his parents, silently asking their permission. Jonathan and Martha remained motionless, knowing Clark had to act upon himself. It was just one more step to showing him he was his own person. After several long seconds, Clark looked back at Cassie, hoping she would give him a sign of approval. Only met with a kind stare and a slight smile, Clark nervously stood up and pushed in his seat. He paused for a moment, looking at the trio one last time. Biting his bottom lip, Clark grabbed his blanket off the couch and headed towards the steps.

"Goodnight, son," Jonathan said from his spot at the table.

Halfway up the stairs, Clark glanced back. "Goodnight," he said as he finished climbing the stairs. The whole trip he couldn't think of anything else but sinking into the warm comfortable mattress, yet once he reached the room he felt at a lost of what to do. For a couple seconds, he paced around the room, his fingers trailing along the wall.

When he reached his desk, he came to a sudden halt. The photo album from earlier was left open. He looked down at the happy, smiling faces and wondered what he was missing. The family seemed so close to him, almost attainable, yet every time he reached out they would slip through his fingertips. He had no idea how long he was standing there, looking down at the immaculate photo, but he felt as if maybe he stared long enough, everything would snap into place. He would no longer be living in a confused world where what's expected is never what was taught. He would gain the life of the boy in the picture.

He slowly reached out, wanting to feel the connection between the boy and himself. The instant his skin touched the soft plastic a soft whisper drifted through the air. 'It doesn't exist.' Startled, Clark glanced around the empty room. It seemed so peaceful, yet the end seemed like a hiss, as if it was mocking the boy.

oOo

"Thank you so much for everything," Martha stated as she grabbed Dr. Harris's coat from the hall closet.

"Seriously, it's my pleasure. Clark proves to be a very unique patient." Cassie slung her black, leather purse over her shoulder and turned towards the door. "I'll be staying at the Smallville Motel for the next couple weeks. My number is on the table if you need anything."

Surprised that Cassie wouldn't be returning home, Martha exclaimed, "Oh! I had no idea you would be staying in Smallville. We'd be happy to have you here."

Cassie smiled at the woman's endless generosity. It was something so subtle yet forgotten in a city like Metropolis. "Thanks for the offer, but I think it would be better for Clark if he doesn't become dependant on me." She casually opened the door and glanced back at the parents, "After all, I'm not gonna be here forever." She genuinely smiled afterwards, showing she knew her place in the family.

"Yes. I see..." Martha replied, returning the woman's smile. "Before you leave though, can you say bye to Clark? I'm sure it would mean a lot to him."

Shocked by her own negligence, Cassie exclaimed, "Oh! Of course! That would be excellent." She turned towards Martha and placed her hand on her shoulder. "You are going to do great while I'm gone," she reassured, knowing the mother would fill her shoes at Clark's protector better than she ever could.

"Thank you," Martha whispered, her eyes sparkling with joy.

"I'll get him," Jonathan volunteered as he headed up the stairs. He slowly approach Clark's door, not wanting to scare the confused boy. He paused for a second behind the closed door, praying to anyone who would listen to heal his son. Whatever happened to Clark over the past year was too much for Jonathan to bear. All this time, he naively thought when Clark returned through would be a few emotional wrinkles to work out, but nothing as dramatic as this. It was like the boy behind the door wasn't even Clark. He was just a lifeless shell of what his son once was. Every time Jonathan looked into his eyes, instead of seeing the cheerful, innocent sparkle he loved, the father was met with a blank stare, as if the life had been ripped out of him.

Taking a deep breath, Jonathan cautiously opened the door, no sure what would be awaiting for him on the other side. What he saw shocked him to his very core. Clark was huddled against the wall rubbing his hands against his temples, as if his head was about to explode. His heart dropping to his stomach, Jonathan ran to Clark's side and fell to his knees. "Clark!"

Turning away from the voice, Clark muttered, "I know. I know. I'm sorry."

Rubbing his son's shoulders, Jonathan coaxed, "Clark it's me, Dad. Open your eyes."

The pain was horrendous. Clark never thought pain like that ever existed. Whatever was happening, all he could do was beg for it to stop. He had to comply, to lie, even if it only granted him one second of peace. "No dad. Never existed. Live here. Always have."

Losing his calm, Jonathan grabbed Clark's forearms. "Clark! Open your eyes. It's not real!"

Clark had no idea how long he was there. How long he was trapped away from the life he loved. How long he was neglected from the loving touch of his parents. Everyday, they would come in and feed him lies, and he would rebel them. Yet, everyday it became more and more difficult to oppose them. The only place he would see his house was in his dreams, and lately he would catch himself thinking maybe that was the only place it ever existed. He knew thoughts like that were dangerous. If he caved in, they would win. He would just become a creature, with no feelings, but it became harder and harder to believe help was coming.

Jonathan watched in terror as Clark's breaths became shorter and harsher. "Clark!" he desperately cried, shaking the boy's shoulders.

"Please...stop..." Clark begged through his tears.

Jonathan paused for a moment, staring at Clark's tear-filled eyes. He had no idea what was going on through is son's mind right now, all he knew was that he had to snap him out of it. "Clark!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "What you see isn't real!"

Clark violently shook his head, trying to get out of Jonathan's grasp. "I came to conquer. I must be contained," he whispered, reciting what was said to him hour after hour.

Reaching his own breaking point, Jonathan grabbed either side of Clark's head. "Look at me," he instructed, blinking back his own tears. "It's not real. You're home," he stated as he hold Clark's head still.

For an endless second, Clark's shallow breaths were the only sound that filled the room. Blinking back his tears, Clark breathed, "Dad?" Before Jonathan could respond, Clark flung his arms around his father. Burying his head into his father's strong shoulder, Clark whispered, his voice full of relief, "Dad...I missed you. I missed you so much..."

"Oh God, Clark," Jonathan sighed. Gently, he moved his shoulder away from Clark's face and looked into his son's eyes. Slightly smiling, the father wrapped his arms around his boy. Clark was back.

To Be Continued…

Next Chapter: The arrival of Chloe!