Clark Kent (
stands_for_hope) wrote2015-05-26 08:10 pm
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Entry tags:
The Double K Farm for At Risk Youth - How it Starts
It had been a hard year for the Kents.
The loss of a father, a husband, had hollowed out mother and son, though thankfully they'd managed to make due on the farm between the both of them. But that was just the financial parts. The farm felt empty without Jonathon Kent, their home felt empty, and Clark...
Clark was so angry with everyone, with everything. It wasn't fair.
He could do so many things, so many things, but he hadn't been able to do anything when his father's heart had given out. He hadn't been able to do anything when Jonathon Kent had dropped dead in a field while Clark was at school. He'd just been there to get pulled into the office, take the phonecall from his mother.
It was doubly hard to go through his days now. Before, there'd been a bit of a barrier between the people who liked to tease him; Jonathon Kent had been respected and folks had looked out for Clark because of it. They still looked for him, but now it was more about sympathy and less of a willingness to put themselves between him and trouble.
That's why he was here. Twelve years old, pushed against a chain link fence, holding onto the fence pole for their sake as much as his own. Anger boiled up inside him, anger enough to make his eyes start to lighten to red, anger enough to make him want to do things he couldn't do, shouldn't do. Because people were mean and cruel and they picked on weakness like a pack of jackals, even if the weakness was feigned.
I can't do it. I can't hurt anyone.
It was like a screen door trying to hold back a tidal wave. He was shaking and his eyes were so hot. He just hoped he could hold on long enough for them to get bored. Long enough for someone to wander by. He just had to hold on.
The loss of a father, a husband, had hollowed out mother and son, though thankfully they'd managed to make due on the farm between the both of them. But that was just the financial parts. The farm felt empty without Jonathon Kent, their home felt empty, and Clark...
Clark was so angry with everyone, with everything. It wasn't fair.
He could do so many things, so many things, but he hadn't been able to do anything when his father's heart had given out. He hadn't been able to do anything when Jonathon Kent had dropped dead in a field while Clark was at school. He'd just been there to get pulled into the office, take the phonecall from his mother.
It was doubly hard to go through his days now. Before, there'd been a bit of a barrier between the people who liked to tease him; Jonathon Kent had been respected and folks had looked out for Clark because of it. They still looked for him, but now it was more about sympathy and less of a willingness to put themselves between him and trouble.
That's why he was here. Twelve years old, pushed against a chain link fence, holding onto the fence pole for their sake as much as his own. Anger boiled up inside him, anger enough to make his eyes start to lighten to red, anger enough to make him want to do things he couldn't do, shouldn't do. Because people were mean and cruel and they picked on weakness like a pack of jackals, even if the weakness was feigned.
I can't do it. I can't hurt anyone.
It was like a screen door trying to hold back a tidal wave. He was shaking and his eyes were so hot. He just hoped he could hold on long enough for them to get bored. Long enough for someone to wander by. He just had to hold on.
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It was definitely not a Kansas accent, that was for sure. Standing there in the cluster of boys who had been picking on the other boy was one who now stood between them, fists raised, no hint of a bruise or blood on him even though there were now two kids, one clutching his nose and the other his eye, looking like they were going to cry. But this one didn't look repentant in the least.
"What about it? I thought you guys wanted to fight!" he taunted, stepping toward them, stubborn, confronting, and then laughing. "What? You guys cowards? Only wanna fight somebody who won't throw a punch back? Chickens, all of ya. Get outta here, go back home. Go feed some chickens so you fit in!"
His foot scuffed across the ground, kicking loose gravel and chunks of dirt toward the lot of them as they backed off.
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"Look out!"
But the blond kid who was trotting up wasn't an ambush or a trick. He slotted up against Bucky and rubbed his shoulder, clearly trying to calm him down.
"Oh, like I could take Buck in a fight," the blond kid said with a laugh. His accent matched the brunet's and it was clear the two knew each other from how familiar they were. Clark watched them warily.
"You didn't have to do that," he said moodily, watching as the baseball team ran farther and farther. "They're going to go after you now."
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Moment by moment, he was calming down, even able to smile by the time he was offering a hand up. "My name's Bucky Barnes. This is Steve Rogers. How about you?"
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A stiff breeze would knock over Steve.
Clark looked at the hand for a moment and took it carefully, letting himself be pulled off the ground. Steve breathed in sharply, though, which had him looking back at the pole he'd been holding onto.
...the extremely dented pole.
But Steve just sucked in the breath and turned it into a smile.
"Yeah, I haven't gotten in trouble here yet, so Bucky hasn't had a scrap in ages."
Clark looked at them both again before finally meeting Bucky's eyes.
"Clark. Clark Kent."
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He'd cleaned Steve up enough that he knew how it usually went. A black eye, bloodied nose, bruised ribs - but it looked like Clark was okay. That made it interesting, that and the pole. He'd have to think about that.
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Then he looked around.
"What were you two even doing out here anyway? I know the farms round here. You're no Sullivan, and you're definitely not one of the Oswalds."
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And, honestly, Steve did seem to be doing better. He wasn't coughing as much as he used to. That was a good point in Bucky's book.
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Clark looked over at Bucky.
"And where are you? The Sullivan cabin's hardly big enough for two, let alone three. And you don't look like brothers besides."
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"Lemme call my mom," he said instead. "She usually picks me up on the way home from the market."
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He paused.
"Even if they can take it."
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"They can't hurt me," he said with a sigh and a shake of his head. "You shouldn't get in their way. Trust me. I'll be all right."
Steve raised an eyebrow.
"Not in our nature, buddy," he said with a low chuckle. Clark was surprised at how deep his voice was when he was such a little guy. "If Bucky hadn't jumped in, I would have: there's somethin' wrong with a person who just lets someone get beat on."
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For Bucky, this was business as usual. Beat up some bullies, get Steve taken care of, and then make sure everybody got home safe. Even if, in his case, it was the orphanage instead of home. Just now, it was a barn.
A barn that was nicer than the orphanage.
Take that, Sister Mary Aquila.
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It pulled a smile out of him when he wasn't expecting one.
"Then I'd best get up to the Sullivan farm. They'll let me use the phone to call Ma."
He didn't wait, stuffing his book in his bag before he started running.
Steve turned to Bucky.
"You see that pole, Buck?"
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He wasn't sure what was up with this kid, but he knew that with strength like that, he could've killed those other kids without blinking - and he didn't. That was a hell of a thing. More than he would've done. And that made it even more important to be on Clark's side. So maybe that temptation wouldn't ever come to him.
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Steve tried not to think about the kind of things he'd do with strength like that. Instead, he got on his bike.
"Word through the grapevine, he lost his dad about a year ago. Apparently, it was a big thing around here."
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He gave Steve a look before climbing onto his own bike. "You're due something, before your blood sugar does stuff."
But he headed on toward the farm where Clark had headed, figuring they'd catch up on their bikes.
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"I had an apple not twenty minutes ago, you goof. I'm fine."
Then he was too busy catching up with Bucky on his bike. By the time they got there, though, Miss Sullivan was escorting Clark out the door with a smile on her face and a hand on her shoulder.
"--know, Clark, you're always welcome here."
"Thank you, Mrs. Sullivan."
"And you tell your Ma that she's welcome by any time. Especially with one of her pies."
Clark gave a polite smile to the woman and nodded before turning to see the other boys riding up. Mrs. Sullivan gave Steve a smile... and raised an eyebrow at Bucky. The boy hadn't given her a good answer as to where he was staying, which made her suspicious. Clark caught the slight tension and decided to defuse it.
"My Ma's gonna be by in a minute or two. She just had to clean up her booth.'
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It was hard to play the long con when there weren't enough places to push doubt onto. He knew, looking at her, that before long, he was going to be found out. And he wasn't sure what was going to happen when it all finally fell in, but for now, he was where he needed to be: right with Steve.
"Sorry if we interrupted anything."
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"Oh no, you boys didn't interrupt anything at all. You're welcome to play out in the yard out front here while you wait for Martha. I just don't have anything for you since I didn't know you'd be by."
She turned to Steve.
"But I should have a nice casserole for your Ma in an hour or so. She did wonders for my father the other day. Always nice to have a nurse around."
Steve nodded in agreement.
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Whether or not he was in class, he still did his best to do the homework. That way if he ever could get into the school, he wouldn't be behind. Even if it meant he had to steal a few fallen quarters to afford notebooks. He'd stolen worse.
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"I've seen him," there was a point at Steve, "but I haven't seen you. Why don't you go to school?"
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But Bucky settled down, pulling his own (rolled up) notebook out of his back pocket, pencil shoved into the spiral binding. "Not figured out if there's an orphanage here or not, but it kind of looks like there's not. ...No nuns, either."
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"No orphanage," he admitted as he looked down the road. They wouldn't be able to see it yet, but his mother's truck was on the way, just over the hill. "But I wouldn't worry about it."
Steve sat up then.
"Wouldn't worry about it! Of course, I'm gonna worry about it. He'd be staying with us if we had the room but we don't."
He'd had Bucky stay over a night or two, but he kept going back to the barn like a stubborn mule. It drove Steve insane.
Clark just grinned.
'Maybe someone else has a room. Smallville's small but it's not that small."
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He was good at math. He was good at a lot of school things, but he'd tended not to "work up to his potential", they called it, but he didn't care. He'd made the choice intentionally. No smart guy did okay in the part of town where he lived.
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