Dreams Come Softy...
For dear Karen (celticbabe2002), with much love. Forgive me for being a sentimental old fool.
****
“Again daddy, again!”
The kite spun and looped through the air, catching every breath of blown air that it could, a dot of colour against the pale grey sky.
Jonathan Kent looked down at the small, dark-haired child at his side, clapping his hands, blue eyes shining with excitement. If he'd known that this two-bit, not-very-well-made kite would have such an effect on his young son, he would've made it sooner.
Martha had found a scrap piece of muslin to make the kite, and the hardware store in town had provided all the other parts, including the streamers fluttering from the bottom of the raggedy-looking toy. He had never made a kite before, nor ever thought of having one, until the day that he watched Clark running through the yard, shouting “whoosh!” at every gust of wind that blew past him and trying to catch it with his little hands.
He knelt down on one knee and handed the spinner to Clark. “See if you can do it, son,” he said, encouragingly. A small hand reached out tentatively for the wooden spinner, and Jonathan could see the curiosity on Clark's face warring with the ingrained need to be careful. He was only six years old and already he knew that things broke easily when he touched them. Jonathan hated that someone so young had to be so careful about things, at an age when letting loose was as easy as breathing.
But the thought that kept him up at night and made him stand outside Clark's bedroom door watching his son as he slept was of someone finding out about what Clark could do, or where he was from, and taking Clark away; this unknown bogeyman scared Jonathan more than anything else ever had in his whole life. He thought of the spaceship in the storm cellar and the sudden burst of loving protectiveness blooming in his chest made him motion with the spinner and say to Clark, “it's alright son, take it.”
Clark took the spinner in both hands, his brow creasing in a frown of concentration as he tried to copy what Jonathan had done minutes before. The kite began dipping and falling, and Clark's frown deepened. Gently, Jonathan tugged him in front of him and placed his large hands over Clark's smaller ones on the spinner, guiding the kite in the way that would make it fly higher.
"Here, try it like this,” he said.
“Ok,” was Clark's reply. Jonathan's breath caught in his throat at the absolute trust implied in that one word. He had given up on the idea of being a parent, a far harder thing that Martha had to cope with than he did, but even in his wildest dreams he could not have imagined how it feel to have one small person's complete trust.
The kite sailed upwards, and Jonathan let go, letting Clark do it himself. “That's it, son, you've got the hang of it now,” he said, smiling down at him. His son laughed in delight as the kite soared. Best damn toy ever invented, Jonathan thought to himself.
Martha called to them from the back door, asking them to come inside. Jonathan waved back at her, and, taking the spinner from Clark, pulled the kite down towards them. It almost caught in the budding trees at the side of the meadow, but he pulled it clear just in time, and Clark clapped his hands again.
With the kite in one hand, Jonathan held out his other one to Clark with the words, “Come on, son, your mother wants us.”
As they made their way to the house, Clark was chattering excitedly about the kite and the wind and how he wished he could fly like the kite did.
“Could I fly, Daddy?” Clark asked, and Jonathan's denial almost tripped off his tongue before he caught himself. Clark could punch holes in walls and run so fast that it was hard to see him; who was say that he couldn't? “I don't know, Clark,” he said, chuckling. “I really don't know.”
“Daddy, why is the sky so big?” was the next question Clark asked, and Jonathan nearly laughed out loud. How did anyone answer that question to a curious six year old?
“Because, son, it has to cover everything from here-” he pointed west, towards the Hubbards farm “to there.” He waved his hand east, towards Smallville. Clark was quiet as he absorbed this information, and Jonathan wondered what he would ask next. Funny, he thought to himself as he trudged back to the house, holding Clark's hand and trying not to walk too quickly. Funny how the sky seems bigger now.
Clark had made it bigger. Jonathan had never given much thought to life on other planets, or even that other planets existed. He had been raised by a man far too practical to entertain thoughts like that. The limit of his world had been defined by the horizon he spent hours looking at from his bedroom window; how many nights as a young man had he dreamed of finding out what lay beyond it? The bright lights of the great city of Metropolis glowed at night, an exotic world he rarely visited and longed to explore. Now, though, with Clark here beside him, flesh-and-blood proof of something he had never even realised, the horizon seemed a little further away than Metropolis.
This little boy, this star-child, had changed his life, in more ways than he ever thought was possible.
****
Later, after dinner, Jonathan carried Clark upstairs to his bedroom, already sound asleep. His warm little body curled into Jonathan's chest was not something he had thought possible, and, now that he had felt it, didn't think he would ever get tired of it.
The glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling faded a little when the light from the landing hit them. Jonathan swung the door closed as quietly as he could and they lit up again in the darkness. Gently, he laid his little son down on the bed, already in his pyjamas, and pulled the sheet up over him. Not that Clark needed it; they had learned that Clark didn't seem to notice whether it was hot or cold, another way in which he was already different.
Jonathan smoothed his hair and kissed his forehead and sat on the edge of the bed for a little while, listening to Clark's even breathing. In sleep, nothing could touch him. Not for the first time, Jonathan wondered about Clark's other parents, the ones beyond the stars. He wondered what Clark remembered of them, if anything, and the things he might've seen already that Earth could not compete with. He thought of a little child in a spaceship, hurtling towards Earth. Did Clark remember any of that?
He looked up at the ceiling and let his mind wander, thinking about another man and woman in another place sitting at Clark's bedside while he slept, and how they could've given this precious moment up. He knew he could do it, even if it had to be done.
That night, with Martha tucked into his side, Jonathan dreamed of bright blue eyes, and a child's laugh, and how it would feel to drift among the stars.
****
“Again daddy, again!”
Clark Kent didn't think he would ever tire of hearing that coming from the usually serious little child standing beside him. Chris was more quiet than most children he had ever known, but then Clark assumed that had something to do with his history and the circumstances in which he and Lois had found.
The day almost two years that Chris asked about his parents was a day that Clark would rather forget. How do you tell a six year old that his parents were people willing to kill anyone in their path, and would wipe out whole races if they could, and hadn't wanted Chris from the moment he was born? No child should have to bear that knowledge as a burden. For someone who made his living through words, Clark had found himself short on all of the right ones, and Lois had been the one to explain to Chris about Zod and Ursa.
The moment that almost completely broke him, however, had been when Lois told Chris that his parents didn't want him, which was how he had arrived on Earth, and Chris had asked, “But you want me?” with a tremor in his voice. Clark had simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and pulled Chris into his arms. “We want you very much, Chris,” Lois had told him, addressing Chris's back, her eyes watery, and Clark had reached out and pulled her into the hug too.
Chris's birthday a while ago had been a difficult time, when someone had asked him what his real parents had given him as a present. Now, though, Clark could see no trace of that sad boy in the Chris standing beside him, watching his old kite floating on the autumn breeze. They had come to the farm for the weekend and the first thing Chris had done was go exploring in the barn. He had emerged an hour later, covered in dirt and spider's webs, with the kite clutched in his hands. It looked a little worse for wear, but Clark had seen his dad patch it up enough times to know what to do.
The kite soared again, and Chris laughed. Clark loved that sound. His hands pulled the kite in a different direction and Chris tried to follow it, running up the yard and reaching upwards with his arms. Clark thought of all the times he had done this with his dad; the ghosts of Jonathan's hands lingered over his as he twisted and pulled the spinner.
The bang of screen door at the back of the house made him look up; Lois had come out onto the porch to watch what they doing. It was a little ridiculous how the mere sight of her made his heart race, after all
the years they'd been together, but it did. She waved at Chris, who was jumping up and down and pointing at the kite, a smile on her face.
They stayed that way for a while, Clark controlling the kite, Lois watching, Chris trying to catch it; Chris wasn't keen on trying to do it himself, and eventually got bored. He disappeared into the barn again, and Clark walked up to the porch where Lois still stood with the kite in his hands.
“He seems... better,” he said, carefully placing the worn kite on the table at the back door. Lois sighed. “I dunno, Smallville, sometimes I think he's alright and then I catch looking at something but not really looking, and he's so small and sad I just want to do something or say something that will make him not be sad any more.”
She chewed her lip, a deep frown on her face.
Clark moved the three feet he needed to to be beside her and slid his arms around her waist. Lois turned so she could face him and looked up at him. “What are we going to do if it gets really hard for him?” she asked, sounding a little helpless.
Clark shrugged a shoulder. Neither of them had been given a manual on how to raise a child, despite all of the helpful hints his mother had passed on from her experience of raising both him and Connor, but Chris was different, and he felt sometimes as though they were flying blind. “Love him, as much as we can,” he said. “And deal with one thing at a time.”
Lois rested her head against his chest. “He does have one advantage,” she said softly. Clark pressed a kiss into her hair and murmured, “what's that?” Her answer surprised him; “he has you for a father,” she said, a smile in her voice.
Clark protested. “I don't know that mmmph-” he began, until Lois's hand squarely over his mouth stopped him. She was looking up at him, one eyebrow raised. “Work with me here, Smallville,” she suggested. He nodded in acquiescene, and her hand slid off his mouth and round to cup his cheek. “You're kind, and patient, and you have such a big heart that anyone close to you knows that they are loved.” She smiled sweetly, brushing her thumb over his bottom lip. “And of course, the smartest thing you ever did,” she continued, moving closer until their noses were touching, “was marry moi.”
Clark had no argument with that. “What else was I gonna do?” he asked, remembering those words being spoken to him on a day that had changed his life.
Lois pressed her closed lips to his, a soft, chaste movement, and Clark returned the favour. They played this game sometimes, seeing who would break first. It was usually him; he never could resist this woman.
Clark could happily have stood there on the porch forever, with Lois in his arms; the air was crisp and cool; the sun cast long shadows as it set behind the barn; at this moment, all was right with the world.
And then his stomach rumbled.
Lois rolled her eyes. “Men,” she said, stepping backwards and out of his arms. “You better call Chris in.”
Clark couldn't resist calling after her as she walked towards the kitchen door, “what's for dinner?” Lois looked at him over her shoulder as she pulled the screen door open. “Beef bourbignon,” she said, a wicked grin on her face. He spluttered; her laughter, high and merry, drifted out from the kitchen, and he turned away with a smile on his face, looking for Chris. God help him, but he loved her.
****
After dinner (which turned out to be roast chicken, and not something that would completely scandalise Chris), Clark walked round the farm, checking that everything was alright. He didn't need to, but old habits die hard. His last stop was the yard, and he paused in the middle to look up at the stars that shone brightly in the clear night sky. He had always loved this sight; he had lost count of the number of nights he had spent with his telescope in the loft of the barn, and later in their house in Metropolis, looking up at the stars.
Lois had asked him once why he enjoyed it so much, and his answer had been simple; he had come from the stars, and the home that he had lost had been there, and it reminded him every time he looked up that he might not have been born on Earth, but he belonged to it now.
There was a whine somewhere below him, which turned out to be Shelby. He sat beside Clark, who reached down and scratched between his ears, just the way the dog liked. Shelby was older now, more content to sleep in his basket in the living room than chase rabbits round the farm. Like so many things that were a part of Clark's life, he was old and much loved.
Chris joined him; his little serious son asked questions about the stars sometimes, especially after he had learned of his own origins. Clark wondered, not for the first time, what he could do to make his son smile.
“Hey, Chris?”
“Yeah Dad?”
“Wanna see something cool?”
Chris nodded, and Clark bent down to pick him up and wrap his little legs round his waist.
“You ready?”
“You bet!”
Clark smiled at him, and floated upwards gently. Chris's eyes grew rounder the higher they got; they hadn't done this very often, so it was still magical to Chris.
The ground beneath them fell further and further away until the barn was no bigger than a speck. No clouds in the sky meant no cold showers and a view that spanned miles. Clark pointed out different landmarks and constellations to an open-mouthed, wide-eyed Chris.
After a while, Clark stopped talking and just drifted, Chris safe in his arms. He tuned his hearing; he could hear Lois humming in the kitchen; Mr Hubbard was snoring; the cows shifted in their sleep; a car horn blared in Metropolis.
And beside him, his little son was fast asleep, his head tucked under Clark's chin. Clark hoped that whatever he was dreaming of would be peaceful.
He had no need to dream; everything he had ever wanted was right here.
The End
****
“Again daddy, again!”
The kite spun and looped through the air, catching every breath of blown air that it could, a dot of colour against the pale grey sky.
Jonathan Kent looked down at the small, dark-haired child at his side, clapping his hands, blue eyes shining with excitement. If he'd known that this two-bit, not-very-well-made kite would have such an effect on his young son, he would've made it sooner.
Martha had found a scrap piece of muslin to make the kite, and the hardware store in town had provided all the other parts, including the streamers fluttering from the bottom of the raggedy-looking toy. He had never made a kite before, nor ever thought of having one, until the day that he watched Clark running through the yard, shouting “whoosh!” at every gust of wind that blew past him and trying to catch it with his little hands.
He knelt down on one knee and handed the spinner to Clark. “See if you can do it, son,” he said, encouragingly. A small hand reached out tentatively for the wooden spinner, and Jonathan could see the curiosity on Clark's face warring with the ingrained need to be careful. He was only six years old and already he knew that things broke easily when he touched them. Jonathan hated that someone so young had to be so careful about things, at an age when letting loose was as easy as breathing.
But the thought that kept him up at night and made him stand outside Clark's bedroom door watching his son as he slept was of someone finding out about what Clark could do, or where he was from, and taking Clark away; this unknown bogeyman scared Jonathan more than anything else ever had in his whole life. He thought of the spaceship in the storm cellar and the sudden burst of loving protectiveness blooming in his chest made him motion with the spinner and say to Clark, “it's alright son, take it.”
Clark took the spinner in both hands, his brow creasing in a frown of concentration as he tried to copy what Jonathan had done minutes before. The kite began dipping and falling, and Clark's frown deepened. Gently, Jonathan tugged him in front of him and placed his large hands over Clark's smaller ones on the spinner, guiding the kite in the way that would make it fly higher.
"Here, try it like this,” he said.
“Ok,” was Clark's reply. Jonathan's breath caught in his throat at the absolute trust implied in that one word. He had given up on the idea of being a parent, a far harder thing that Martha had to cope with than he did, but even in his wildest dreams he could not have imagined how it feel to have one small person's complete trust.
The kite sailed upwards, and Jonathan let go, letting Clark do it himself. “That's it, son, you've got the hang of it now,” he said, smiling down at him. His son laughed in delight as the kite soared. Best damn toy ever invented, Jonathan thought to himself.
Martha called to them from the back door, asking them to come inside. Jonathan waved back at her, and, taking the spinner from Clark, pulled the kite down towards them. It almost caught in the budding trees at the side of the meadow, but he pulled it clear just in time, and Clark clapped his hands again.
With the kite in one hand, Jonathan held out his other one to Clark with the words, “Come on, son, your mother wants us.”
As they made their way to the house, Clark was chattering excitedly about the kite and the wind and how he wished he could fly like the kite did.
“Could I fly, Daddy?” Clark asked, and Jonathan's denial almost tripped off his tongue before he caught himself. Clark could punch holes in walls and run so fast that it was hard to see him; who was say that he couldn't? “I don't know, Clark,” he said, chuckling. “I really don't know.”
“Daddy, why is the sky so big?” was the next question Clark asked, and Jonathan nearly laughed out loud. How did anyone answer that question to a curious six year old?
“Because, son, it has to cover everything from here-” he pointed west, towards the Hubbards farm “to there.” He waved his hand east, towards Smallville. Clark was quiet as he absorbed this information, and Jonathan wondered what he would ask next. Funny, he thought to himself as he trudged back to the house, holding Clark's hand and trying not to walk too quickly. Funny how the sky seems bigger now.
Clark had made it bigger. Jonathan had never given much thought to life on other planets, or even that other planets existed. He had been raised by a man far too practical to entertain thoughts like that. The limit of his world had been defined by the horizon he spent hours looking at from his bedroom window; how many nights as a young man had he dreamed of finding out what lay beyond it? The bright lights of the great city of Metropolis glowed at night, an exotic world he rarely visited and longed to explore. Now, though, with Clark here beside him, flesh-and-blood proof of something he had never even realised, the horizon seemed a little further away than Metropolis.
This little boy, this star-child, had changed his life, in more ways than he ever thought was possible.
****
Later, after dinner, Jonathan carried Clark upstairs to his bedroom, already sound asleep. His warm little body curled into Jonathan's chest was not something he had thought possible, and, now that he had felt it, didn't think he would ever get tired of it.
The glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling faded a little when the light from the landing hit them. Jonathan swung the door closed as quietly as he could and they lit up again in the darkness. Gently, he laid his little son down on the bed, already in his pyjamas, and pulled the sheet up over him. Not that Clark needed it; they had learned that Clark didn't seem to notice whether it was hot or cold, another way in which he was already different.
Jonathan smoothed his hair and kissed his forehead and sat on the edge of the bed for a little while, listening to Clark's even breathing. In sleep, nothing could touch him. Not for the first time, Jonathan wondered about Clark's other parents, the ones beyond the stars. He wondered what Clark remembered of them, if anything, and the things he might've seen already that Earth could not compete with. He thought of a little child in a spaceship, hurtling towards Earth. Did Clark remember any of that?
He looked up at the ceiling and let his mind wander, thinking about another man and woman in another place sitting at Clark's bedside while he slept, and how they could've given this precious moment up. He knew he could do it, even if it had to be done.
That night, with Martha tucked into his side, Jonathan dreamed of bright blue eyes, and a child's laugh, and how it would feel to drift among the stars.
****
“Again daddy, again!”
Clark Kent didn't think he would ever tire of hearing that coming from the usually serious little child standing beside him. Chris was more quiet than most children he had ever known, but then Clark assumed that had something to do with his history and the circumstances in which he and Lois had found.
The day almost two years that Chris asked about his parents was a day that Clark would rather forget. How do you tell a six year old that his parents were people willing to kill anyone in their path, and would wipe out whole races if they could, and hadn't wanted Chris from the moment he was born? No child should have to bear that knowledge as a burden. For someone who made his living through words, Clark had found himself short on all of the right ones, and Lois had been the one to explain to Chris about Zod and Ursa.
The moment that almost completely broke him, however, had been when Lois told Chris that his parents didn't want him, which was how he had arrived on Earth, and Chris had asked, “But you want me?” with a tremor in his voice. Clark had simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and pulled Chris into his arms. “We want you very much, Chris,” Lois had told him, addressing Chris's back, her eyes watery, and Clark had reached out and pulled her into the hug too.
Chris's birthday a while ago had been a difficult time, when someone had asked him what his real parents had given him as a present. Now, though, Clark could see no trace of that sad boy in the Chris standing beside him, watching his old kite floating on the autumn breeze. They had come to the farm for the weekend and the first thing Chris had done was go exploring in the barn. He had emerged an hour later, covered in dirt and spider's webs, with the kite clutched in his hands. It looked a little worse for wear, but Clark had seen his dad patch it up enough times to know what to do.
The kite soared again, and Chris laughed. Clark loved that sound. His hands pulled the kite in a different direction and Chris tried to follow it, running up the yard and reaching upwards with his arms. Clark thought of all the times he had done this with his dad; the ghosts of Jonathan's hands lingered over his as he twisted and pulled the spinner.
The bang of screen door at the back of the house made him look up; Lois had come out onto the porch to watch what they doing. It was a little ridiculous how the mere sight of her made his heart race, after all
the years they'd been together, but it did. She waved at Chris, who was jumping up and down and pointing at the kite, a smile on her face.
They stayed that way for a while, Clark controlling the kite, Lois watching, Chris trying to catch it; Chris wasn't keen on trying to do it himself, and eventually got bored. He disappeared into the barn again, and Clark walked up to the porch where Lois still stood with the kite in his hands.
“He seems... better,” he said, carefully placing the worn kite on the table at the back door. Lois sighed. “I dunno, Smallville, sometimes I think he's alright and then I catch looking at something but not really looking, and he's so small and sad I just want to do something or say something that will make him not be sad any more.”
She chewed her lip, a deep frown on her face.
Clark moved the three feet he needed to to be beside her and slid his arms around her waist. Lois turned so she could face him and looked up at him. “What are we going to do if it gets really hard for him?” she asked, sounding a little helpless.
Clark shrugged a shoulder. Neither of them had been given a manual on how to raise a child, despite all of the helpful hints his mother had passed on from her experience of raising both him and Connor, but Chris was different, and he felt sometimes as though they were flying blind. “Love him, as much as we can,” he said. “And deal with one thing at a time.”
Lois rested her head against his chest. “He does have one advantage,” she said softly. Clark pressed a kiss into her hair and murmured, “what's that?” Her answer surprised him; “he has you for a father,” she said, a smile in her voice.
Clark protested. “I don't know that mmmph-” he began, until Lois's hand squarely over his mouth stopped him. She was looking up at him, one eyebrow raised. “Work with me here, Smallville,” she suggested. He nodded in acquiescene, and her hand slid off his mouth and round to cup his cheek. “You're kind, and patient, and you have such a big heart that anyone close to you knows that they are loved.” She smiled sweetly, brushing her thumb over his bottom lip. “And of course, the smartest thing you ever did,” she continued, moving closer until their noses were touching, “was marry moi.”
Clark had no argument with that. “What else was I gonna do?” he asked, remembering those words being spoken to him on a day that had changed his life.
Lois pressed her closed lips to his, a soft, chaste movement, and Clark returned the favour. They played this game sometimes, seeing who would break first. It was usually him; he never could resist this woman.
Clark could happily have stood there on the porch forever, with Lois in his arms; the air was crisp and cool; the sun cast long shadows as it set behind the barn; at this moment, all was right with the world.
And then his stomach rumbled.
Lois rolled her eyes. “Men,” she said, stepping backwards and out of his arms. “You better call Chris in.”
Clark couldn't resist calling after her as she walked towards the kitchen door, “what's for dinner?” Lois looked at him over her shoulder as she pulled the screen door open. “Beef bourbignon,” she said, a wicked grin on her face. He spluttered; her laughter, high and merry, drifted out from the kitchen, and he turned away with a smile on his face, looking for Chris. God help him, but he loved her.
****
After dinner (which turned out to be roast chicken, and not something that would completely scandalise Chris), Clark walked round the farm, checking that everything was alright. He didn't need to, but old habits die hard. His last stop was the yard, and he paused in the middle to look up at the stars that shone brightly in the clear night sky. He had always loved this sight; he had lost count of the number of nights he had spent with his telescope in the loft of the barn, and later in their house in Metropolis, looking up at the stars.
Lois had asked him once why he enjoyed it so much, and his answer had been simple; he had come from the stars, and the home that he had lost had been there, and it reminded him every time he looked up that he might not have been born on Earth, but he belonged to it now.
There was a whine somewhere below him, which turned out to be Shelby. He sat beside Clark, who reached down and scratched between his ears, just the way the dog liked. Shelby was older now, more content to sleep in his basket in the living room than chase rabbits round the farm. Like so many things that were a part of Clark's life, he was old and much loved.
Chris joined him; his little serious son asked questions about the stars sometimes, especially after he had learned of his own origins. Clark wondered, not for the first time, what he could do to make his son smile.
“Hey, Chris?”
“Yeah Dad?”
“Wanna see something cool?”
Chris nodded, and Clark bent down to pick him up and wrap his little legs round his waist.
“You ready?”
“You bet!”
Clark smiled at him, and floated upwards gently. Chris's eyes grew rounder the higher they got; they hadn't done this very often, so it was still magical to Chris.
The ground beneath them fell further and further away until the barn was no bigger than a speck. No clouds in the sky meant no cold showers and a view that spanned miles. Clark pointed out different landmarks and constellations to an open-mouthed, wide-eyed Chris.
After a while, Clark stopped talking and just drifted, Chris safe in his arms. He tuned his hearing; he could hear Lois humming in the kitchen; Mr Hubbard was snoring; the cows shifted in their sleep; a car horn blared in Metropolis.
And beside him, his little son was fast asleep, his head tucked under Clark's chin. Clark hoped that whatever he was dreaming of would be peaceful.
He had no need to dream; everything he had ever wanted was right here.
The End