Summary: In Smallville, what you see is what you get. Usually. But sometimes even the most idyllic places can hold the most horrific secrets. Martha and Jonathan Kent never expected to find a little boy—especially not in the back seat of a wrecked car with his parents dead from the crash. Little Clark Peterson, now an orphan at the age of ten, seems like he’s holding on to more than one heartbreaking secret. Will Martha and Jonathan find the strength to make Clark feel safe again now that he’s been found?
Author’s note: This is Part One of a planned trilogy and is almost complete (there are maybe two more chapters to write). The theme is a bit dark but ultimately hopeful, and as usual, though I break lots of things, I promise to put them alllllll back together! Thank you to KSaraSara for encouragement and help with the Summary.
Content warning: child abuse/severe neglect, on-page death of side characters, mild cursing
By Bek <superbek1984@gmail.com>
Rating: PG-13
1
Martha Kent closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the headrest. For once, she was glad Jonathan had come with her into town to go shopping. She’d never loved driving in inclement weather. Not that she was bad at it; no, she could handle their pickup just fine, wind or rain or snow. But driving through the torrential downpour outside, combined with the exhaustion she felt after the long week they’d just had and the headache she’d been battling most of the afternoon, would have been challenging, to say the least.
Turning her head slightly in Jonathan’s direction, she opened her eyes about halfway and then reached a hand over and set it lightly on his thigh.
“Thanks for driving home, Jonathan,” she said, and she gave him a small smile when he glanced over at her.
“Of course, Martha.” He returned her smile before quickly looking back at the road ahead of them. “I’m glad you didn’t—”
Jonathan tensed, his hands tightening on the steering wheel, and Martha whipped her head back around to look forward just as he slammed his foot on the brakes. The sound of squealing tires was drowned out by Martha’s scream as the pickup slid to a stop, throwing her forward against the shoulder strap of her seatbelt.
“Oh God, Jonathan…”
“Stay here, Martha, I’ll—”
But she’d already unlatched her seat belt, turned the door handle, pushed the door open, and started out into the pouring rain, her eyes fixed on the scene in front of them.
A dark blue sedan settled into its position upside down just off the road, not more than forty feet ahead of her. Its roof was crushed, as was the entire passenger side; glass and debris were everywhere, and smoke wafted up from the front of the vehicle.
But Martha barely registered that or the nauseating smell of burnt rubber or the rain pounding down, instantly soaking her. Her gaze remained trained on the two figures in the front seat, hanging from their seatbelts.
“Jonathan!” She glanced back over her shoulder toward their pickup just as Jonathan shut the door.
“I’m coming, Martha.”
Together, they ran through the rain, across the slick asphalt, and then into the mud and wet grass along the side of the road. And the closer they got, the more the knot in Martha’s stomach tightened.
“God, Jon…”
Martha stopped a few feet back from the flipped vehicle, her hands moving up to cover her mouth as Jonathan continued on, carefully lowering himself to the ground amidst all of the broken glass and reaching into the vehicle toward the driver.
“Martha…” Jonathan grunted as he scooted back a bit and looked at her over his shoulder. His eyes told her all she needed to know, and she felt tears mingling with the rain sliding down her cheeks. Jonathan’s voice thick with anguish, he stammered, “The backseat—check the backseat, Martha…there’s—there’s a child.”
Her heart sank, and she tore her gaze away from her husband and forced her feet to move. Within seconds, she had knelt down next to the vehicle, and she carefully wiggled her way in through the partially shattered window, ignoring the shards of glass that sliced into her palms and knees. Ahead of her, a small child—maybe seven years old—hung upside down in the middle seat, the lap belt barely holding him in place. Blood dripped from a cut on his head and another on his arm, and his eyes were lightly closed with unconsciousness.
But as she reached up and placed a hand in front of the boy’s mouth, she felt him breathing, and a wave of relief washed over her.
“He’s alive, Jonathan!” she called over the din of the rain, which still pounded down outside.
“Can you get him out?”
She quickly scanned the small space around her. With the roof crushed in, the boy—even being as small as he was—was only a few inches from the ground.
“I think so,” she said. Then, she twisted around as much as she could until she found Jonathan, who was leaning in watching her through the broken window.
“Be careful, Martha,” he said with a small nod. “Wayne’s on his way, I can see him comin’ down his driveway with his truck. We should get the boy inside, call Doc McMillan.”
A small moan from the child shifted Martha’s focus, and she turned back toward the boy as his face tightened.
“Shh, sweetie, you’re okay. I’m gonna get you outta here,” she murmured quietly, although the boy didn’t respond. Inching closer, she brushed some of the broken glass out from directly underneath him. The ground was wet from the rain, and she shivered as a chilly breeze swept through the vehicle. She began to ease herself onto the ground carefully, turning onto her back and then scooting just underneath the boy.
“Careful Martha, you don’t know what kind of injuries he might have.”
She nodded and reached up to cradle the boy’s head with one hand, feeling warm blood at the back, matting his unruly black hair. With her other hand, she reached up toward the seatbelt latch. Pausing, she glanced back toward Jonathan, lifting her head off the ground a bit so she could see him. “There’s a blanket behind the seat in the pickup. Can you…?”
“Got it. I’ll be right back.”
Still being as careful as she could, Martha pushed the button to undo the seatbelt but held the belt in her hand and then slowly let it retract. When her hand reached his midsection, she released the lap belt and shifted to support the boy with her hand just above his hips.
He weighed nearly nothing, and she was surprised when she didn’t have too much trouble easing him down on top of her, his head coming to rest on her chest. Gently, she wrapped both arms around him, and she spoke quietly to him as she started to slide along the ground back out of the broken vehicle.
“Shh, I got you, sweetie. You’re gonna be okay.” She didn’t even know if that was true, but god, she’d never hoped for anything more in her life. Voices outside the vehicle became louder as she inched her way out, feet first.
“I called the police already, but they’re at least ten minutes out yet. Maybe y’all take my truck back to the house, call Doc to get out here to see to the boy.”
“Good idea, Wayne. Get him inside, out of this rain. Martha…?”
“You have that blanket, Jonathan?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When she’d scooted all the way out of the car, Jonathan laid a blue and white quilt over top of the boy, and then both he and Wayne helped her to stand as she kept the child held tightly in her arms. He didn’t stir again, and his breathing seemed labored.
“Here, Jonathan, take my truck,” Wayne said, handing Jonathan a set of keys.
Then, together, Martha and Jonathan hurried over to Wayne’s white pickup, and Jonathan opened up the passenger’s side door and helped Martha in before climbing into the driver’s seat.
She closed her eyes for just a few seconds and steadied herself with a few deep breaths as her husband started the truck, turned it around, and then drove as quickly as he could back down the driveway to the Irigs’ home. In her arms, the boy moaned again, and she loosened her embrace just enough to shift him a bit so she could see his face.
There was a nasty cut on his cheek and then another gash just at his hairline. But they looked relatively superficial, and what she was more immediately concerned with was how pale and gaunt the boy was. She pursed her lips together and bit back a sob as she realized her earlier assessment of his age was probably wrong; the boy was likely closer to ten or maybe even eleven, she thought.
Jonathan pulled up to a stop as close to the house as he could get, and Hazel Irig, Wayne’s wife, hurried out to meet them, holding up a large umbrella.
“Hazel, will you call Doc?” Jonathan asked after he helped Martha out of the car and to the front porch. “I should head back out to stay with Wayne until the police arrive.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Hazel replied with an emphatic nod. “Come on, Martha, let’s get this poor boy warmed up.”
And she followed Hazel inside, cradling the precious bundle—this beautiful, tiny child—tightly to her chest.
***
Martha absently stroked the boy’s forehead, brushing his hair back for the umpteenth time, as she gazed down at him.
“Just a few more minutes, sweetie, and Doc will be here to take a look at you. You’re gonna be fine. You’re…gonna…be…”
Fresh tears slid down her cheeks, the first in the fifteen minutes since she’d sat down with the child. She quickly reached up and wiped them away as she lifted her eyes to Hazel, who sat on the sofa a few feet away holding a mug of hot tea in her hands. Martha shook her head as her gaze met her friend’s.
“He’s so tiny, Hazel. He’s…”
“He’s…not well…” Hazel said quietly. “And I don’t mean…”
“...just from the car wreck…”
Her friend nodded, and Martha lowered her eyes back to the boy. He shifted a bit in her arms, but still didn’t wake, and she continued to caress his forehead with gentle fingers. Something about him tugged at her heart…that part of her heart that she’d tried to shut down so many years ago, when she and Jonathan had found out they couldn’t have children of their own.
As she stared down at the boy’s perfect little face, marred by streaks of mud and dried blood, she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to him now… If she’d interpreted Jonathan’s expressions correctly, the two adults in the car with the boy—presumably his parents—hadn’t survived the crash… But certainly he had relatives who would take him in…or something. Certainly he wouldn’t be without a home…
A soft knock came at the front door, and Hazel smiled gently at Martha and then stood up and disappeared out of the living room, leaving Martha alone with the boy for a moment. She stilled, not even realizing she’d been rocking him gently, and she resisted the urge to plant a kiss on his beautiful little forehead.
“Perfect little boy. Doc is here, I bet, and he’ll…make sure you’re okay,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
The boy grimaced and moaned, shifting in her arms to curl up against her more. Then, as though he’d just realized someone was holding him, his whole body stiffened, and he inhaled sharply.
Instinctively, although she couldn’t say where the instinct came from, Martha resumed her rocking and started to hum a quiet tune. And as she brushed his hair back from his face again, the child whimpered and slowly blinked open his eyes.
Her heart clenched.
Huge deep brown eyes flitted up at her very briefly—wide with curiosity and wonder for just a moment before they filled with fear. The child screwed his eyes shut and started struggling, trying to escape her embrace. And he was surprisingly strong for his small frame. However, she held him tightly and began talking to him, keeping her voice calm, gentle, kind…
“Shh, sweetie, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re okay. Shh,” she murmured. She wasn’t entirely sure whether she was doing the right thing or saying the right thing, but the boy seemed to respond to her words—either that or he just tired fairly quickly; his writhing slowed and then stopped altogether. To her dismay, however, he then curled in on himself and started crying, his little body shaking, even though he obviously tried to hide it, as he buried his head into the blanket. Her heart twisted again, and she stroked his hair softly. “Oh, sweetie, shh, now. You’re okay. Shh.”
Quiet voices from behind them seemed to startle the child, and he stilled quite suddenly and whimpered again. Immediately, Martha held him just a little bit tighter.
“No need to worry, sweetie. That’s just Doc McMillan and Hazel. Doc is going to give you a little check up and make sure you’re alright. Is that okay with you?”
The boy shook his head almost violently and then seemed to immediately regret it, bringing both hands up to cover his eyes. Martha frowned as she continued rocking slowly.
“No?”
The boy shook his head again, although he seemed more careful about it this time.
“Can you tell me why?”
Again, he shook his head.
Martha lifted her eyes as Hazel and Doc McMillan entered the room, silent now. Doc tipped his head at her but didn’t speak or step closer. Instead, he and Hazel moved to the sofa and sat quietly. Doc gave her a small smile and a slight nod as though to encourage her, and Martha shifted her focus back to the boy again.
“Sweetie, what if…I stay with you? You can even just stay right here on my lap, right here in this chair, and I won’t let you go the whole time? Can we try that?”
When he hesitated, his eyes still scrunched closed, Martha felt her heart break even more. She cleared her throat quietly and looked up at Doc, who still watched her patiently. He gave her another nod, and she blinked back her tears as she forced a smile in return.
“How about we just try letting him listen to your heartbeat first, sweetie?” It was a guess—she didn’t know what Doc would normally check first, but something told her they needed to move slowly if they were to have the boy’s cooperation.
And when he lifted his chin ever so slightly and glanced up at her with those big brown eyes, still full of tears, she held her breath, waiting. His little jaw trembled as he seemed to study her for a moment, and she smiled at him again and tightened her arms around him ever so slightly. Finally, he closed his eyes, shivered, and mumbled a quiet “’kay.”
“Good, good,” Martha breathed, lifting her eyes to Doc and Hazel.
Doc stood, navigated around the coffee table in the middle of the Irigs’ living room until he reached Martha, and then knelt in front of her and the boy, his movements careful and slow. He set his medical bag down on the floor next to him and then quietly cleared his throat.
The boy flinched in Martha’s arms and curled up just a little more. Her eyes caught Doc’s, and she frowned.
“Shh, sweetie, everything’s okay. You’re okay,” Martha murmured again, even as she swallowed back her worry.
“Hey buddy, my name’s Doc.” Doc rested a hand on the armrest of the chair Martha sat in to help steady himself as he settled onto his knees. Then he lifted the ear pieces of his stethoscope up to his ears. “What’s your name?”
Martha knew Doc didn’t expect an answer, and neither of them got one. Instead, the child just scrunched his eyes closed tighter. Martha stroked his forehead and tried her best to keep the smile on her face as Doc scooted himself a little closer.
“Alright, buddy, first thing I need to do is just listen to your heartbeat.”
Doc spoke quietly as he carefully pulled back the top of the blanket, and he proceeded to explain every step as he gently lifted the boy’s shirt and slid the diaphragm of the stethoscope up the boy’s chest. The boy seemed to hold his breath, his eyes squeezed shut and his jaw clenched, and Martha thought she could feel his whole body shaking as Doc moved the stethoscope to a few different spots, listening to the boy’s heart and lungs.
Her heart started racing as she watched Doc suppress a frown, his eyes flickering up to meet hers briefly when he removed the stethoscope from under the boy’s shirt. Gently, he pulled the blanket back up over the boy, and the warm smile returned to his face.
“There we go, buddy. All finished there,” Doc said. His movements still slow and smooth, he removed his stethoscope, put it back into his medical bag, and pulled out a small, silver instrument. “And now, I’m gonna need your help just a little bit, buddy, because I need to check out your eyes next. Do you think you can help an old man out?”
Martha squeezed the boy gently as he shook his head, his eyes still shut tightly. She opened her mouth to try to convince him otherwise, but Doc cleared his throat again.
“That’s okay, buddy, I understand. I understand. You’re doing great, by the way. I know this is scary,” Doc said, his eyes meeting Martha’s with another kind smile. She could see his concern though, and she held her breath as he continued. “How about instead, you can let me check out the cuts you’ve got on your head here? Can I do that, buddy?”
And again, the boy hesitated, his body tensing in her arms. She soothed him gently, the only way she knew how, with slow, careful caresses along his forehead.
“Is that okay, sweetie? Doc just wants to take a look.”
Finally, he swallowed and nodded lightly, but then he curled up against Martha more, one of his tiny hands poking out from around the blanket to grasp her arm. She forced herself to take a measured breath as she smiled down at him.
“Good, good. Now you just focus on my voice here, while Doc takes a look, and he’ll be done before you know it,” Martha promised, hoping she was right. Her eyes darted up to Doc, but he was already sifting through his medical bag, looking for something, and she quickly focused her attention back on the boy as she started to hum quietly.
His eyes opened just a little, just enough for her to get a glimpse of their beautiful deep brown color again, before he flinched at the sound of Doc’s medical bag closing, his eyes screwing shut once more.
While Martha kept humming, Doc explained that he was going to inspect each of the cuts on the boy’s face, and the boy didn’t move, holding himself almost unnaturally still as the older man carefully wiped away the dried blood and streaks of mud, cleaning up the wounds. Gently, Martha held the boy’s hair back off his forehead as Doc cleaned the cut along the boy’s hairline, which looked a little deeper than the one on his cheek.
Doc then let out a short breath. “Okay, kiddo, I’m going to have a look here and make sure we didn’t miss anything.” He paused for a moment, then added quietly, “Martha, can we help him sit up, just a little, so I can check out the back of his head and neck?”
“Of course, Doc,” Martha said. “Okay, sweetie, did you hear that? I’m just going to shift a bit here, and you can…” Her voice trailed off as she started to move, lifting the boy up slightly. He’d tensed again, but he didn’t struggle as she propped him up a bit, resettled herself into the chair, and leaned him on her chest. And all the while, as she felt his thin frame trembling in her arms, she tried to ignore the aching in her heart telling her his behavior was…not normal. “There we go, sweetie. How’s that?” She addressed him, but glanced up at Doc, who nodded with a smile and mouthed “Perfect.”
Behind her, Martha heard the front door open and the sounds of umbrellas closing, accompanied by quiet voices she recognized as Jonathan’s and Wayne’s and another she thought might be Sheriff Harris’s. Hazel hopped up from her spot on the sofa and hurried out to meet them, presumably to steer them into the kitchen or somewhere else so the boy didn’t feel even more overwhelmed.
For his part, Doc didn’t miss a beat, explaining in his warm, gentle voice what he was going to do before he reached up and carefully parted the boy’s hair in the back, checking for other wounds. Martha kept her eyes trained on Doc’s face, and her stomach lurched as she saw him frown. At the same moment, the boy whimpered and pressed himself against her more.
“Sorry, buddy, you’ve got…” Doc frowned again and looked up at Martha. “Hold him tight, Martha. This won’t be comfortable.”
She closed her eyes and lowered her head to rest on the top of the child’s as she did exactly what Doc said, tightening her arms around the boy. He whimpered again but didn’t move, and she continued murmuring quietly to him. “Shh, sweetie. You’re okay. Hush now, everything’s going to be okay. Shh.”
He flinched, his whole body jerking slightly, as Doc used his tweezers to remove a small shard of glass from a wound on the back of the boy’s head. Then she held him even tighter, her stomach twisting in knots again, when his breaths seemed to become short and rapid and he started to cry, burying his head into her shoulder.
“Sorry about that, buddy. But that’s all done now, and I’ve just gotta finish cleaning this up here.”
Ten minutes later, Martha cradled the boy in her arms, rocking him as she hummed a soft tune. Doc McMillan had gathered his things and stood, his expression thoughtful, and he tilted his head toward the kitchen. Martha just nodded with a small smile and closed her eyes as Doc disappeared to join the group speaking in hushed tones in the kitchen.
She could hear bits and pieces—fragments of phrases and words that didn’t make sense without context, and so, rather than try to figure it all out, she pressed a light kiss to the top of the boy’s head and let herself relax just a little into the soft cushions of the chair. And the boy seemed to relax as well, settling into her embrace and letting out a long breath.
It wasn’t much longer before she could tell he’d fallen asleep, his breathing becoming regular and deep, and she finally opened her eyes again and looked down at him, her heart clenching. God, she…didn’t want to let him go.
The thought overpowered everything else in her mind then, and with a short, shuddering breath, she placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.
“Perfect little boy…”
“Martha…”
Jonathan’s low whisper from behind her startled her a bit, despite its softness, and she blinked twice before swiveling the rocking chair slowly, carefully, until she could see him. He stood in the doorway to the kitchen, the others sitting at the kitchen table behind him, still talking quietly amongst themselves. Doc had joined the group and was now writing something on a yellow notepad. She shifted her gaze back to her husband, and as their eyes met, she felt a wave of love and compassion from him. She pursed her lips and tried not to cry.
“The boy’s name is Clark Peterson,” Jonathan said, his voice quiet as he stepped closer to her.
Something inside of her shook loose, and she couldn’t stop the tears from falling then as she nodded and looked back down at the child.
Clark… His name was Clark.
“He’s ten years old. His parents…were Abigail and Jacob Peterson. They did live in Smallville—that old farmhouse off Big Creek Road—but…the sheriff says he’d only met them once before, and he’d never met Clark…”
She knew the question she needed to ask, and it was right there on the tip of her tongue, waiting… But her heart wouldn’t let her, and she just tore her gaze away from the beautiful child she held in her arms—the child who was much too small for his age and much too young to have lost his parents. As more tears slid down her cheeks, she looked up at Jonathan and shook her head slightly.
Jonathan knelt in front of her and placed a gentle hand on her knee. He didn’t quite smile, but she could tell from his expression that he understood her. And he nodded.
“I’ll talk to the sheriff. If nothing else, I’m sure he’ll need a place to stay until…his relatives can be located.”
With a weak smile and a squeeze of her knee, Jonathan stood and quietly moved back into the kitchen to speak with the sheriff, leaving her and the boy—Clark—alone again. Martha swiveled the chair back around to face away from the kitchen and lowered her eyes to the sleeping child. Slowly, she reached up and brushed back his hair.
“I’ve got you.” He seemed to settle up against her a bit more, and she couldn’t help as her heart tugged at her again. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Beautiful, perfect little boy.”
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