Fic: Summers (4/7) Clark Kent, Scott Summers [rated teen]
Fandom: Superman/X-Men (comicverse)
Characters: Clark Kent (Superman, Kal-el), Scott Summers (Cyclops)
Rating: Teen for strong language
Summary:There was a boy who fell from a burning plane and landed in a farm in Smallville, Kansas. He was adopted by a kind, old couple who could not have their own children. But they had plenty of experience raising boys who fall from the sky.
Disclaimer: Scott Summers (Cyclops) is the property of Marvel Comics, created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby. Clark Kent (Kal-el, Superman) is the property of DC Comics, created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster. This work is for entertainment only; no money is made. Gosh darn it.
Author's Notes: All the chapters are available at my website but for those who want to read on LJ, I'll be updating it regularly at least twice a week if not more. It's just a coding thing.
=^o.O^=Crying didn't make everything okay. Thanksgiving really sucked even though Scott tried to hide it and the Kents pretended he wasn't sad but he could tell that they knew he was sad. The food was good but then Aunt Martha's food was always good.
Christmas was a little better. A week before, Aunt Martha asked Scott to tell them about his family's Christmas traditions so they could try them and he talked about his mom's fruitcake that set on fire and the air force-army-navy mixer for the all the military kids at the base and how he got a real sled with fiberglass skates instead of plain plastic ones even though Alex just got a toboggan but then he got sad because he broke the sled going off a bank and Mom got angry and Dad said boys will be boys and they started yelling again and he had to take Alex out to Mrs. Tsosie until everything quieted down. He shouldn't remember bad things. He only wanted to remember the good things. Aunt Martha tried to make fruit cake but it wasn't the same without the burnt raisins.
Clark's friend, Lana, came over to help make garlands. That was kind of fun because he didn't think food could be used to decorate things. When he asked if you could eat the garland after Christmas, Lana said no, and Scott said that was kind of a waste because hobos eat even gross stuff out of the garbage, and she got a funny look on her face and he thought maybe he was rude. He didn't mean to be rude. Sometimes he just had questions. Clark said it was a really good question and maybe next time they should try something else for the garlands that could be reused. Then Lana talked about Santa and Scott said Santa wasn't real and then her face really went funny.
"Clark, can you believe that?"
Clark rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I don't really believe in Santa either, Lana. Haven't since first grade."
"What?!"
"I didn't sleep very well when I was little and I walked in on Ma and Pa putting presents under the tree. From then on, Santa was 'the spirit of giving' instead of a real person."
"So, why don't you believe in Santa?" Lana asked Scott.
"I dunno. We just never did," he said. "It's kind of freaky anyway thinking someone's watching you all the time then sneaks into your house."
Clark laughed. "Why, do you have something to hide?"
"No! It's just weird." Scott made a face. "Letting him in the house is bad perimeter defense."
Scott really wanted to do something nice for the Kents. Last year in his old school, they made ornaments out of popsicle sticks; this year, here in his new school, they made snowglobes. Scott tried to make the house but it looked really messed up so he didn't want to give that. He tried to call Lisa from the hospital because she said he had money from Mom and Dad and he wanted to buy a new tractor 'cause Uncle Jon always complained that he spent more time and money fixing theirs than using it. But Lisa called Aunt Martha instead about it (which was kind of stupid because everyone knew Christmas presents had to be a surprise) and Aunt Martha gave him a big hug and said he was a darling, thoughtful boy and maybe he kind of cried but that still didn't give him a Christmas present idea.
Then he thought of the allowance he'd saved up but when he went to the store with Aunt Martha and Clark, all the stuff he wanted to buy was too much. Also, he didn't want to buy it while they watched. One Friday, while Clark and Pete bought coffee (Fridays in the winter meant coffee with caramel and whipped cream at the Ice Creame Shoppe), Scott gathered the courage to ask Lana to take him shopping.
She told him he was really sweet and ruffled his hair. Scott didn't mind so much when she did that. Lana and her dad went almost all the way to Wichita where there was an actual mall instead of just a couple stores. It took all day and he spent all $10.25 that was left from four months of allowance but Scott was pretty happy. They even had a place that wrapped all the presents for free which was nice because the he knew Aunt Martha would love the ribbons.
Opening presents at the Kents' was kind of torturous. They only opened stocking presents during breakfast then they had to go to church which was kind of a big deal since Uncle Jonathan never went to church and then finally, they could open everything properly. He got a model car-building kit with a real battery operated engine from Uncle Jonathan. Aunt Martha got him clothes and a book of math puzzles. Clark got the Ice Creame Shoppe to make him a pint of vanilla ice cream with crushed M&Ms that was just for him. And of course, there was a bunch of stuff from the neighbours which was really nice and he'd have to write thank you notes like Mom always made him do for his birthday. Uncle Jon got Aunt Martha a pretty yellow skirt, a shawl made out of nubby blue yarn. He gave Clark four really thick chapter books. Aunt Martha gave Uncle Jon a new leather wristband for his watch and Clark, lots of clothes, half of them too big right now but she said he was sure fit them by summer. Clark got Uncle Jon a Johnny Cash CD and Aunt Martha got a Times Life book on UFOs.
Knowing his presents couldn't compete, Scott was relieved they were wrapped up nicely at least. He gave Aunt Martha's first, a cloth, polka-dotted headband. "'Cause you always push your hair back when you cook and get crabby when you find bits of food in your hair." He got a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek which he tried very hard to squirm at 'cause it was Christmas.
Uncle Jonathan's was a combination spanner-wrench. "Y'know, I never find that when I need it."
"I know. That's why I got it," said Scott.
"Thank you, Scott. That's mighty thoughtful of you." He hugged Scott too, but not as tightly as Aunt Martha.
Shyly, he pushed Clark's present last. "It's kind of stupid."
"I'm sure it isn't," Clark said. He unwrapped the paper cautiously because it could be saved for another present next year or put in a scrapbook. Inside was a small Moleskine notebook, something the salesperson raved about. Scott liked how grown up looking it was and how it had a bookmark and an elastic band that let the pages lie flat and how the paper looked kind of old and felt soft. "Is it a journal?"
"Sort of," Scott said. "You like reading and you tell stories real good so I thought maybe you should write them. Maybe you can make your own book one day. But you don't have to use it for that. It's just... maybe you should. Because you're good at it."
Clark stroked the cover and fingered the rounded pages. He looked like he was seeing something real far away that no one else could see. "Thanks, Scott. This is... I think this is exactly what I need right now."
That night, him and Scott made a blanket fort. Clark tucked the blankets under top bunk's mattress while Scott piled up pillows and more blankets on the floor.
A knock sounded on the door. "Boys, I have snacks!"
Scott swept the corner of the blanket aside to answer. "Hi, Aunt Martha."
She held out a plate of sandwiches and a thermos of cocoa. "Mind you don't spill it all over the rug."
"No ma'am."
"Clark."
He popped his head out. His hair stood out on all ends. Scott giggled as did Aunt Martha.
"Try to get a little bit of sleep," she told him.
"I'll try but if you made us peanut butter and honey sandwiches, Scott's going to be popping off the walls."
"I will not!" Scott protested.
"We'll see. Night, Ma."
"Night, Aunt Martha."
She kissed the top of Scott's head then Clark's. "Good night."
Carefully, so carefully, Scott balanced their goodies into the tent. "Do you always eat in a blanket fort?"
"I don't know," said Clark, picking up half a sandwich. "This is the first time I ever made one. I used to play more often in the hayloft up in the barn. You didn't make blanket forts either?"
"Messed up military corners." Scott bit into his own snack. They munched silently for a few minutes before he spoke up again. "Remember Thanksgiving?"
"Sure."
"Sorry I was crabby."
Clark ruffled his hair. "It's all right. We understand."
Again, silence. Then, "Do you remember your parents? The ones before Aunt Martha and Uncle Jonathan?"
Clark seemed to chew a lot slower before replying. "Sort of. Just little snatches. I'm not sure if they're actually memories sometimes or stuff I made up. I mean, I think I remember a really white room. I remember being really scared in a small, enclosed space."
"Were you in an accident, too?"
"I guess. I really can't remember a lot." Clark spread his sandwich apart and put it back together. He did that a couple times.
"But you were really little, right? That's why you forgot?"
"That's right. You're not going to forget your parents, Scott. As long as you talk about them. We do want to know about your life."
Scott tilted his head to the right. "How do you know what I'm thinking even when I'm not sure?"
"I'm secretly an alien with super powers."
He giggled and demolished the rest of his sandwich. Less than a month later, he found out Clark was serious.
#
Epic reveals made for a worse Monday than PE. Winter wasn't supposed to be tornado season but there Scott was, clinging to Clark's neck as he outran a twister so big, it swallowed a neighbour's barn whole. Ice pellets flailed him, he pressed his face under Clark's jacket for protection. Aunt Martha's broth-and-candles scent covered him before he knew enough to look up again. He was in the storm cellar, Clark was halfway out.
"Clark, there's nothing more you can do! Get in here!" Uncle Jonathan shouted.
"The animals--"
"Can be replaced."
"There are still people out there!" Clark shouted, too. Scott thought he'd've shouted even if the wind wasn't roaring so loud. "I'll be right back."
Panic ripped all over Scott's body and he lunged out of Aunt Martha's arms to grab Clark's jeans. "Don't go!"
"Stay here with Ma and Pa. I'll be fine."
"No, you won't! You'll die!"
"Scott."
"You're going to die! I hate you!"
Clark swept him up, squeezed him tight. "I promise I won't die on you, baby brother. But I have to help and you have to stay safe with Ma and Pa so I have someone to come back to. Okay?"
"No!"
But Clark was gone and Scott's face felt like it was on fire, just like the plane right before Dad pushed him out. Uncle Jon pulled him down from the ladder he didn't remember climbing. His forehead throbbed. Then the back of his head. His vision wiggled so much it made him want to barf. Oh no. Oh, no, not another headache. Scott lurched to the back of the cellar, gasping for some medicine, before pressing his face against the wall to shut out the light.
When Clark returned hours and hours of darkness later, Scott wouldn't talk to him. He wouldn't for days.
#
Since as long as Scott could remember, his mom called him "Little Thinker." It was a pun which Scott looked up and knew meant a word that could mean more than one thing because it sounded or looked like another word kind of like bow and bow and bough. In his case, Mom called him Little Thinker because he liked to sit and watch things and wonder about them but it also sounded a lot like Little Stinker because Mom said once he made his mind up, there was no moving him which caused a lot of trouble even though Scott didn't mean to. Because he did think a lot, when he was done thinking, he knew for sure what he wanted.
He didn't talk to Clark for days because he had a lot to thoughts twisting in his head. He realised it when he'd been squashed in the dark corner of the storm cellar. Not just about Clark and his secret alien super powers but also life at the farm, his stupid headaches, the Masters' taking Alex away and, of course, his parents dying. He'd tried not to think about that last one too much but maybe that was why his stomach was twisty for no reason sometimes. Mom called the twisty stomach feeling a conscience, the thing that reminded you if you were doing bad. Maybe trying not to think about them was bad. His stomach went twisty now, thinking about how sad Clark was yesterday when Scott didn't want to get ice cream with him even though it was Wednesday in January.
Scott was still thinking when he entered the barn. The tornado damaged a lot of equipment; Uncle Jon and Clark had been working on them for days. Right now, Uncle Jon and Aunt Martha went into the town to buy more supplies. Clark was alone in the barn bent over a hydraulic mulcher. Seeing Scott enter, he stopped rubbing the machine. He'd been smoothing out the dents with his bare hands, Scott realised.
He leaned back against a post. "Alien secret super powers."
Clark righted the mulcher back on its tires. He wiped his hands on an oil-stained rag. "Yes."
"So, are Aunt Martha and Uncle Jon aliens, too?"
"No. I'm adopted. Everything I told you before is true."
Scott crushed a little mound of sludgy hay under his boot, putting all of his weight on it until it was unrecognizable from mud. He peered up through his lashes at Clark who sat on a stool with his head down, staring at his hands. Alex sat like that when Dad got mad at him for doing something hugely wrong like throw his ball on purpose at the road to try to hit cars.
"Do you like Earth people?" asked Scott.
Clark's head jerked up. "Gosh, yes. They're the only type of people I know. I'd never-- I wish I was human. Then I wouldn't be so... things would be... easier."
"Easier to save people?"
"What do you mean?"
Scott looked out the hayloft window. The sky was overcast; darker, shadowed clouds streaked the behind the telephone poles. They looked like smoke. "When you're human, is it easier to save people?"
Clark opened his mouth but nothing came out. His gaze dropped back down to the ground.
"You saved me and Alex, didn't you? If we were really on a parachute on fire, we would've... we'd've been squished on the ground. Like when you hoark spitballs over a really, really high balcony. And in the summer, it's really hot so that means the field was really dry so you must've stopped the fire on the parachute, too. So you probably saved the crop on the whole back forty and probably some of the Hubbards' fields, too."
"I couldn't save your parents," Clark said softly, not looking up.
There was that. He looked down, too. One of the barn kittens pounced on his boot-clad foot then stalked away to clean herself as though it was his fault she got mud all over her. He had to think again. Clark would have had to run at the speed of light to save him and Alex and the back forty and the plane. If he knew someone else was on the plane, he knew he would have. That was the kind of person Clark was, the kind that went out in a snow tornado to save animals and everyone left on the street until he came home completely covered in mud and his clothes shredded. The kind of person who regularly visited a stranger he saved from an exploding plane even when the hospital was miles away.
Scott sat beside Clark. "I'm glad you're an alien. Can you help me with my language arts homework?"