Page 77 of Saving Little Clark

"Okay, okay, enough of the mushy stuff!" Alex crowed, bouncing on his toes. "Can we take a second to talk about how I totally saved the day back there? I mean, did you see me? I was freaking ninja, all fists of fury and shit!"

A startled laugh punched out of me. I pulled back to shoot him an incredulous look, one eyebrow climbing towards my hairline.

"We're standing in the middle of a crime scene, and that's your takeaway? That you got to play superhero for five minutes?"

"I was badass and you know it, Clarkie. Admit it, you're super impressed. I bet you wanna give me a medal or something."

I rolled my eyes. "Sure, I'll get right on that. Just let me pull one out of thin air real quick."

Alex gasped, pressing an affronted hand to his chest. "Rude! After I rode to your rescue and everything. That's gratitude for you.”

The cops arrived, swarming the room like ants on a carcass, guns drawn and faces grim. They converged on Sterling in a tangle of limbs and shouted orders, wrestling him into cuffs with ruthless efficiency.

"Gotcha, you sick fuck," one of them snarled, grinding Sterling's cheek into the carpet. "Thought you'd be able to stay in hiding forever, huh? Wriggle away like the fucking worm you are?"

Sterling just groaned. As they hauled him upright, I crossed the room. Passed through the mob of uniforms and badges until I stood before him, our gazes level for the first time in years.

"You lose, Sterling," I said simply. "Because I'm still here, loved and cherished. Still standing, after everything you did to me.”

A cough, wet and hacking. His chin lifted, blood-flecked lips pulling back from broken teeth.

"You think this is over?" he rasped, a death's head rattle. "You think you've won, just because they slapped some cuffs on me? You're nothing, Clark. You'll always be nothing, no matter how far you run. How desperately you try to forget."

He leaned in as far as his bonds would allow, practically spitting the words. "I'm a part of you. A rot in your bones, a sickness you'll never shake. And one day, you'll look around at this joke of a life you've built. At that lumbering oaf you've fooled yourself into loving, and you'll realize..." A sharp, mad little giggle, his eyes fever-bright. "You'll realize it was all a lie. A desperate fever-dream, the pathetic delusions of a scared little boy, too weak to face what he is."

Daddy stepped up beside me. Slipped his palm into mine and squeezed. And just like that, the world righted itself. I wasn't alone. Would never be alone, not ever again.

"You're wrong," I said, soft but unflinching. "I used to believe it. But I know now that it's bullshit, the desperate lies of a small, scared man.”

Sterling snarled, thrashing against the hands holding him.

"I am loved," I told him calmly. "Not just by Daddy, but by the family I chose. The one I built for myself, out of tears and laughter and sheer grit. I know that even on my worst days, in my darkest moments, I have people. People, who'll wade through hell and back to remind me that I matter. That I'm vital, in all my flawed, fucked-up glory."

Sterling made a sound, but there was nothing left to say. No magic words or bargains to strike, not this time. He'd played his final hand, shown me the rot behind his paper mask.The scared, sniveling boy, lashing out with the only weapons he knew.

"Goodbye, Sterling," I murmured. Quiet and steady, an absolution.

I took a step back, letting the officers close rank once more. Let them pull him away, still spitting curses and accusations.

But they fell on deaf ears, dull and distant. Because I was already turning, already reaching for the arms I knew would be there to catch me.

"Have fun rotting in prison!" Alex crowed, flipping double birds.

I looked up to see Uncle Will grinning down at us, one big hand ruffling Alex's hair. He looked a little worse for wear - a split lip, the shadow of a bruise blooming along his jaw. But his eyes were bright, his smile blinding.

"You did good, kid," he said gruffly. "Kept your head, even staring down the barrel of a psychopath. I'm proud of you."

All I could do was nod jerkily.

"I think," Daddy said softly, hands gentle on my shoulders, "that it might be a good idea to look into some therapy. Or counseling, at the very least. To help process everything that's happened, start working through the trauma."

"Okay, Daddy," I whispered, lashes fluttering shut. "I want to be better. For us. To build something real, without all this poison leeching the sweetness out. Thank you, for everything."

A wavering smile, painfully tender. "Anything for you, Clark. Everything, for the rest of our lives, if you'll let me."

And then Daddy was pulling away. Was reaching into his pocket, fingers trembling faintly as they closed around something small. Something that glinted in the flickering light, bright and brilliant as a promise.

"Oh my gosh, is this really happening?" Alex exclaimed theatrically from behind me. He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and pretended to swoon, collapsing backwards into his Daddy’s waiting arms.

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