Categories > TV > Smallville > Coming Unglued
Coming Unglued IV
3 reviewsAfter the events of Asylum, the Kents help Clark deal with what has happened.
1Funny
"Clark!"
Hearing his mother call his name, Clark jumped slightly in surprise. He still had yet to finish packing, and his parents were already finished and had their bags loaded into the trunk of the car. He was having a hard time concentrating on his task. He could hear his mother running up the stairs, and when she appeared in the doorway, he still sat on his bed holding one sock and a blue t-shirt.
"Clark, for a boy gifted with superhuman speed, you're moving rather slowly this morning." Martha Kent took the sock from his hand and tossed it onto the bed. She then went to his dresser and took out six pairs of clean socks, tucking them neatly into his suitcase. Taking another look at Clark, she ruffled his hair affectionately. "You sit right there and I'll pack for you. You've got veto rights if I pick something terrible, okay?"
He smiled sheepishly at his mother. "Sorry I spaced out. I was kind of lost in thought."
"It's okay, sweetie. You've had a rough time of it lately. This trip is going to be fun for all of us, but one of mine and your father's ideas is for you to rest, relax, and let us take care of you for a change."
His mother's loving, gentle words brought a lump to his throat. He didn't know what was wrong with him lately, but it seemed like he was always on the verge of tears. He was less than enthusiastic about seeing his friends at school; the last week, he had barely spoken to Pete or Chloe, and had actually avoided them on purpose. Food didn't seem to taste good, even the old favorites his mother had been cooking to encourage him to eat more. Apart from the night that his parents had both stayed with him in the living room, he had slept poorly and what sleep he had was riddled with unpleasant dreams.
"Clark Kent, we really need to do something about your wardrobe! Do you have anything besides blue, white, and red t-shirts and flannels?"
He protested feebly, "Hey, I like blue, white, and red. Everything matches and it all goes with jeans."
"Well, you always look nice, so I suppose it doesn't really matter." Martha folded four t-shirts, five flannels, and a bright red fleece jacket into the suitcase along with the jeans and underwear that Clark had already packed. "There. Now, let's get going! Your father is waiting in the car, and I wouldn't put it past him to honk the horn if we don't get moving."
Still feeling as though he was thinking through a thick fog, Clark picked up his suitcase and allowed his mother to lead the way out to the car.
It was a four hour drive to the cabin, and not even half an hour into the car trip, Clark had stretched out as much as he could in the backseat and was sound asleep. Martha turned around to look at him, and smiled.
"He's asleep, Jon. The poor boy is exhausted. I don't think he's been sleeping well. I heard him get up for a glass of water twice last night."
Jonathan glanced at his son in the rearview mirror. "What took you two so long in the house?"
"He hadn't finished packing. He was just sitting there on his bed, staring at the wall. When I came in and started packing for him, he perked up a little bit, but not much." She paused, shaking her head sadly. "I hope this helps. I want our son to be happy again. I miss hearing him laugh, really laugh."
"Me too." Jonathan reached over to squeeze his wife's hand lovingly.
Two hours into the trip, Jonathan stopped the car at a gas station. When Clark did not wake, he opened the back door and shook his son's shoulder gently. "Clark, wake up, son."
"Dad?" The teenager rubbed his bleary eyes. "Are we there?"
"No, but we're more than halfway. We're at a gas station, and I wondered if you wanted a drink or a bathroom break."
"Sounds good." Clark climbed out of the car and stretched. His nap had renewed him somewhat, though he was still slightly groggy with sleep. He followed his father into the gas station, selected a bottle of cola from the refrigerator, and gave it to Jonathan to hold while he made for the men's room. After a feat of acrobatics to avoid touching the walls, toilet, faucet, and door directly, he headed back to the car.
"Honestly, I don't know what's wrong with people sometimes!"
Clark actually smiled, knowing what his mother was about to say next.
"The things people do to public restrooms are disgusting! You know they don't treat their own bathrooms like that. Clark, you didn't touch anything, did you?"
His father's chuckle brought a faint grin to Clark's face. "Uh, Mom?
Invincible. Germs not an issue."
Martha laughed. "Humor me. I'm your mother."
Hearing his mother call his name, Clark jumped slightly in surprise. He still had yet to finish packing, and his parents were already finished and had their bags loaded into the trunk of the car. He was having a hard time concentrating on his task. He could hear his mother running up the stairs, and when she appeared in the doorway, he still sat on his bed holding one sock and a blue t-shirt.
"Clark, for a boy gifted with superhuman speed, you're moving rather slowly this morning." Martha Kent took the sock from his hand and tossed it onto the bed. She then went to his dresser and took out six pairs of clean socks, tucking them neatly into his suitcase. Taking another look at Clark, she ruffled his hair affectionately. "You sit right there and I'll pack for you. You've got veto rights if I pick something terrible, okay?"
He smiled sheepishly at his mother. "Sorry I spaced out. I was kind of lost in thought."
"It's okay, sweetie. You've had a rough time of it lately. This trip is going to be fun for all of us, but one of mine and your father's ideas is for you to rest, relax, and let us take care of you for a change."
His mother's loving, gentle words brought a lump to his throat. He didn't know what was wrong with him lately, but it seemed like he was always on the verge of tears. He was less than enthusiastic about seeing his friends at school; the last week, he had barely spoken to Pete or Chloe, and had actually avoided them on purpose. Food didn't seem to taste good, even the old favorites his mother had been cooking to encourage him to eat more. Apart from the night that his parents had both stayed with him in the living room, he had slept poorly and what sleep he had was riddled with unpleasant dreams.
"Clark Kent, we really need to do something about your wardrobe! Do you have anything besides blue, white, and red t-shirts and flannels?"
He protested feebly, "Hey, I like blue, white, and red. Everything matches and it all goes with jeans."
"Well, you always look nice, so I suppose it doesn't really matter." Martha folded four t-shirts, five flannels, and a bright red fleece jacket into the suitcase along with the jeans and underwear that Clark had already packed. "There. Now, let's get going! Your father is waiting in the car, and I wouldn't put it past him to honk the horn if we don't get moving."
Still feeling as though he was thinking through a thick fog, Clark picked up his suitcase and allowed his mother to lead the way out to the car.
It was a four hour drive to the cabin, and not even half an hour into the car trip, Clark had stretched out as much as he could in the backseat and was sound asleep. Martha turned around to look at him, and smiled.
"He's asleep, Jon. The poor boy is exhausted. I don't think he's been sleeping well. I heard him get up for a glass of water twice last night."
Jonathan glanced at his son in the rearview mirror. "What took you two so long in the house?"
"He hadn't finished packing. He was just sitting there on his bed, staring at the wall. When I came in and started packing for him, he perked up a little bit, but not much." She paused, shaking her head sadly. "I hope this helps. I want our son to be happy again. I miss hearing him laugh, really laugh."
"Me too." Jonathan reached over to squeeze his wife's hand lovingly.
Two hours into the trip, Jonathan stopped the car at a gas station. When Clark did not wake, he opened the back door and shook his son's shoulder gently. "Clark, wake up, son."
"Dad?" The teenager rubbed his bleary eyes. "Are we there?"
"No, but we're more than halfway. We're at a gas station, and I wondered if you wanted a drink or a bathroom break."
"Sounds good." Clark climbed out of the car and stretched. His nap had renewed him somewhat, though he was still slightly groggy with sleep. He followed his father into the gas station, selected a bottle of cola from the refrigerator, and gave it to Jonathan to hold while he made for the men's room. After a feat of acrobatics to avoid touching the walls, toilet, faucet, and door directly, he headed back to the car.
"Honestly, I don't know what's wrong with people sometimes!"
Clark actually smiled, knowing what his mother was about to say next.
"The things people do to public restrooms are disgusting! You know they don't treat their own bathrooms like that. Clark, you didn't touch anything, did you?"
His father's chuckle brought a faint grin to Clark's face. "Uh, Mom?
Invincible. Germs not an issue."
Martha laughed. "Humor me. I'm your mother."
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