Slayer Anderson
patreon
Life in the Summer Time
🕑 Added 2021-02-15 06:13:49 +0000 UTCMy name...is Jason Summers...and I'd like to tell you a story.
I never felt like I was a normal child. Call it a childish, egocentric worldview; call it narcissism; call it whatever you like, I don't care. From my earliest memories, I'd had...well, I'm not sure what I'd really call it, but 'urge' seems to fit. It was a calling, a sense of purpose, a sense that I was meant to do great things one day. People, adults, seemed to take this in stride. Then again, I suppose they thought it was...cute.
Then I turned nine...
...and my whole life changed.
I'm...what you would call a 'mutant.'
That is, I have a specific gene in my DNA that can tell the sane, rational world of logical physics and natural laws to go fuck itself. Leading minds currently believe it's some kind of aberration in the process of human evolution, spontaneously accomplishing in a single generation what should take millions of years of slow, ponderous progress by normal biological material. Evidently scientists believe that a leap in human evolution has caused individuals to grow wings, shoot fire from their hands, and bend metal with their minds.
For the record?
Evolution.
Does. Not.
Work. That. Way.
Anyway, my personal irritation aside, I'm a mutant. That means I have powers. What are they? I'll get to that in a minute. The more important thing, in my opinion, is who I am.
Jason Summers.
My mother is Joyce Summers. My dad is Mark.
I have an annoying little bundle of energy named Dawn as a youngest sister.
Then there's my twin. Elizabeth Anne Summers. We call her 'Buffy' for short.
Which means my little sister will be Chosen as the Vampire Slayer in six short years.
How do I know?
I wish the answer was simple, though it's anything but. There are a few reasons I know what most would call 'the future.' A long time ago...or yesterday, I suppose, I watched a TV show about a teenage girl picked by destiny and empowered to fight the forces of evil. It was popular, though I wasn't the biggest fan. Certainly I watched most of the show, but not with anything approaching the religious fervor I knew some fans held for it.
...so I watched a show starring my little sister, big deal, right? Most people would just say I'm jealous that she was a child star. The problem? I watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer before I was born, back when I had a different name, a different face, a different life.
Then I died...
...and now I'm a nine year old psychic brat.
That's where my power comes in. Well, I should say 'powers,' really. Honestly, given what's coming, I'd have preferred a more...physical set of abilities, but I got a suite of mental powers. Overall, not that bad, just not my first choice, you understand.
But, yeah.
Psychic.
Of course, I don't get the standard 'useful' mental powers. No telekinesis, no telepathy, no Jedi mind tricks, nothing that could be even remotely construed as 'offensive' in nature. I suppose, though, that for all my complaining, I wouldn't change my powers. They've given me an edge, one that I wouldn't trade for anything. I can see the past, the future, and even the little imprints people leave on objects and their surrounds.
But useful.
As well as annoying.
Oh, and terrifying beyond belief.
…because I'm a mutant. Because I can see Professor X and Magneto in the future. My future.
“Jason!”
I blinked, looking up from my work.
“Jaaaasoooon!”
The call had come again, though I rated it well under panicked, merely 'needy.'
“Jason, c'mon!”
...and demanding. Younger sisters did 'demanding' very well, I had learned.
“I'm in my room!” I yelled, resigning myself to the attentions of the elder of my female siblings. With a stampede of footsteps, the door burst open to reveal a slim, rather short young girl a few bare minutes my junior. Possessed of blonde hair, blue eyes, and a remarkable ability to be terribly irreverent in a serious situation, the girl standing in the doorway currently had her rather cute, childish face set in an angry pout.
“What are you doing?” Elizabeth Anne Summers asked hotly. “Mom said you had to help me with my math before we go see Celia in the hospital!”
I groaned half-seriously, “Buffy, can't I do it later?”
“No! The Ms. Basch said she was going to keep me in at recess to study if I fail another test!” Buffy cried as if to rail against the unfairness of the universe.
“Fine, fine...jeez, okay.” I sighed, pushing my history textbook closed as Buffy dropped her own work on my desk.
“I don't know why you don't like to help me,” my younger sister grumbled as she pulled another chair up to my desk. “You're good at school. I bet you could make it really easy if you tried.”
I shrugged uncomfortably.
“School's easy,” I grunted, not liking the current topic one bit. Still, Buffy was the only person who actually understood some of my problems. “Always has been, dunno' why.”
Buffy made an appreciative noise as I showed her how to do a multiplication equation and explained what variables were once again. As she copied down my work and solved it, she was quiet.
“Mr. Grigson is bugging you about skipping a grade again, isn't he?”
I shrugged silently.
“He's a jerk.” Buffy announced with certainty. “He doesn't like any of the kids in his class and doesn't answer questions like he should. Ms. Basch called him a 'brown-noser' when she thought I couldn't hear. What's that mean?”
I scratched my head. “Dunno'. Mom says it a lot when she and dad get mad at each other, so it's prolly a bad word.”
Buffy nodded, satisfied as I explained another problem.
“Why don't you skip a grade?” She asked quietly. “You're really smart, Jay.”
I shrugged again.
“Is it one of those feelings?” She pressed.
“Yeah,” I relinquished, rubbing at my forehead. “I just...shouldn't. Dunno' why.”
Buffy nodded at this, seeming to accept my reasons even if she didn't understand them; even if I didn't understand them. Even if mom and dad would never understand. My little sister would whine and complain when our parents told her it was too late to go out to the park, just a block away from our house...
...when I told her?
I told her that I had a bad feeling about going out to play, back when we were little, years ago. The next day, they'd found a lady and her dog...they'd found their bodies in the park where Buffy had wanted to play. She'd given me a weird look as mom and dad talked about how this didn't happen in 'their neighborhood'...they didn't know we were listening outside the door.
But Buffy listened when I said I had a bad feeling about something.
I quit trying to explain to my parents after something I said when we were watching the news one night. I was still little, small enough that I couldn't understand the worried, confused, and frightened looks mom and dad gave me when I said that the space shuttle was going to explode.
They didn't look at me for the whole day after Challenger shook itself apart.
I didn't say anything after that...at least, not to our parents.
Celia wouldn't sleep unless I was in the room.
I didn't really blame her.
Yesterday, I would have been bothered by it. I would have thought two girls, even family, even my 'little' sister and our cousin bugging me to be in the same room all night was...irritating, in the very least. I wouldn't have liked having to do it, but I would have given a grumbled acceptance had my mother or father asked me to do it. Now I did it willingly.
No, not just willingly, I had asked my parents and my aunt and uncle. I had nearly begged them to be allowed to stay overnight to comfort Celia. They had given in without too much arguing, deciding that Buffy and I could have the following day off from school for our mental health. After all, walking in to find your cousin having an 'epileptic fit' was probably traumatizing...
'Epileptic fit,' yeah, right.
Celia made a soft, whimpering noise and my hand idly combed through her hair as I stared out into the Los Angeles night, glimmering lights sparkling against a cloud of smog that dimmed the night sky to a blanket of night.
Los Angeles.
Nineteen Eighty-Eight.
Dear Sweet Fucking Hell.
As Celia quieted under my hand, I let my mind drift. There were so many things I didn't want to think about right now. I didn't want to remember my eight-year-old cousin screaming as something invisible tried to tear her life away. I didn't want to remember what the thing crouching over her looked like. I didn't want to think about the disgusting feeling of the ooze around it's eye-stalks as I slipped my young, too-small hands around them and tore-
I jumped up and scampered into the attached bathroom, crouching over the toilet and losing my dinner. Heaving, I tried to compose myself and began washing my mouth out, the cool water a balm to my sore acid-partched throat as I tentatively swallowed.
“Jay?”
I started violently, then sighed, looking towards the bathroom door I had left open in my haste. The dim light-shadow caste into Celia's hospital room highlighted the worried, sleep-deprived and determined face of my little sister. My younger twin. “You okay?”
Elizabeth Anne Summers.
How can someone's name mean so many different things? How can so much change in a few hours? How could I know what to believe...
“No,” I croaked, and regretted it almost instantly as her face crumpled.
“What happened?” Buffy pressed, twisting her hands as she watched me pace back into the main room. “Did...what happened to Celia? How did-you did something, didn't you? I mean, she was screaming and then...something I couldn't see made that bad noise that sounded really scary and then Celia was crying-a-an-and-”
I wrapped the babbling child up in a tight hug and held her until she stopped shaking.
Another thing I wouldn't have understood the need to do...before, at least.
I pulled Buffy into the adult-sized chair and wrapped an arm around her as my other hand went back to soothing our cousin. On the room's couch Celia's mother slept soundly, empty capsule packs of sleeping pills on the small table. Idly I reflected on the luxury of this room and wondered what Celia's parents did for a living. I had never bothered to thin about it before...
Before...
The rest of my life was going to be like this, wasn't it?
'Before' and 'After,' like some bad weight-loss commercial.
“Jay, what happened?” Buffy asked again, quietly as she curled into my side.
I sighed, deeply, looking to where I had pushed the demon's corpse out a window. I was incredibly lucky to have caught it unawares and done fatal damage to it in one strike, thankfully it wasn't a type of demon that could survive having it's eyes torn out of their sockets. Everything had been so terribly clear in that moment...even if it had been invisible, I knew where it would be, what it looked like while it fed-
I shivered and forcibly turned my mind back to Buffy's question. What should I tell her, if anything? What do you tell an eight-year-old child when their future is as harsh, bleak, and demanding as hers? The word 'nothing' was on my tongue when I swallowed it reflexively.
“Are you sure you want to know?” I whispered instead. “It's really scary.”
“Celia was afraid,” Buffy mumbled into my shirt. “She was screaming and-and, you did something. You saved her, didn't you?”
My back tensed and I had a sudden painful clarity of-
…
“You knew!” Buffy was older, her expression fierce and frightening, the face of someone who had lost too much, who had been betrayed one too many times. “You knew and didn't tell me! I asked and asked! I begged you to let me help you, but no! Jason Summers has to have his secrets, doesn't he?! It isn't enough that you lied to me for years, is it? Is it?!”
“All those games we played when we were young, all those sports you teased me into joining: archery, track and field, lacrosse – you were teaching me how to be a good little Slayer, weren't you? Just like the Council? Did you even care that I couldn't make friends outside of those butch little psychos in the kendo dojo?! At least Giles is honest when he's training me to be a loyal killing machine, but you couldn't even give me that, could you?! You're my brotherJason, I loved you, but you've been manipulating me for years-”
Her harsh breathing echoing in the small room, my eyes turned down in shame as tears dripped from both our faces. “-I just can't, Jay. Get out of my sight, okay? Or I'll do something we'll both regret.”
…
What the holy fucking hell was that?
Was that a vision? A waking nightmare? A night terror? It felt like...
...it felt like an echo, something that I was hearing and seeing from a long way off.
No...a long 'when' off.
Well shit.
I pushed the implications of my hopefully non-recurring possibly-vision and concentrated on it's content. I couldn't deny that it was a chance I might take. Even with as little thought as I'd been able to give to everything, those accusations rang true.
I wanted to think I was better than that, but...
...if it came down to my little sister dead and loving me or alive and hating me, I knew which one I'd choose.
Because she was my little sister, because I couldn't think of her as the television character played by a succession of twenty-something actresses, because I was going to have to give her every edge I could...
I was filled with an abrupt empathy for Albus Dumbledore. His decision not to tell Harry about his 'destiny' had probably been as much personal as it had been tactical or strategic. After all, how do you explain to a child that they're going to face eldritch horrors for the rest of their natural life?
It looked like I was about to find out.
“Do you remember when we used to sleep in the same room?” I started slowly. “When we were little?” I paused, considering the irony. I was all of eight-years-old...I had no right to use the word 'little.' “When you-when we still needed the night light?”
“I guess,” Buffy hummed.
“I-we, we used to get scared and crawl in bed with mom and dad, right?” I asked, swallowing dryly. “And dad would go in our room and check under the beds and in the closets...”
“...for monsters.” I almost felt the words, rather than heard them as my sister whispered them into my chest. “But...daddy never found any monsters. Neither did mommy. They said monsters weren't real.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, readying myself for the plunge. “Buffy...most of the time, monsters aren't real. Mom and dad are usually right. There's never anything to be afraid of in our room, but...sometimes, monsters are real. They hide where people don't like to go and only come out in the dark.”
“But mommy and daddy said monsters weren't real,” Buffy whined plaintively, true fear ringing in her voice. “They said so.”
I sighed, hugging Buffy tighter to me as she gripped the hospital blankets we'd been given. “When something scary happens...like today, did you feel like you just wanted to close your eyes and pretend it wasn't happening? Like, did you want to pretend it wasn't happening so hard that it went away and never came back?”
Buffy was quiet for a long time, but eventually nodded into my chest. “She was screaming and it was so loud, but it was so scary that-that I...”
As she trailed off, I opened my mouth, ready to shatter her illusions forever. “Mommy and daddy play pretend too, just like when you and Celia pretend to be superheroes, except mommy and daddy pretend not to see the monsters that hide and are really sneaky because...they're really scary. Mommy and daddy don't want to be afraid all the time so they pretend they can't see the monsters.”
It was quiet again for a long time.
“Is that why we couldn't see it?” Buffy asked eventually. “Like in the fairy tales? Are monsters like fairies...you can't see them if you don't believe in them?”
I smothered a chuckle and shook my head. “No sis. This was a special monster...only sick kids could see it, like Celia.”
“Then how could you see it?” Buffy asked. “You hurt it, didn't you? Made it go away, right? That's why Celia's okay...how did you know it was there?”
I worked my jaw, a little stunned by the insightfulness of her question.
Truly, from the mouths of babes...
“Magic,” I said finally. Because, really, what other reason was there? I couldn't think of anything better and there was a fair chance that my sudden past-life regression actually was 'magic' of some nebulous sort and agency anyway. Besides, telling her the truth would only confuse and disturb her. I couldn't tell Buffy that I wasn't 'really' her brother, though I really was her brother too...
Even my head hurt from thinking about it...and that was without the existential crisis bubbling over somewhere in my subconscious.
“Magic?” Buffy asked, her eyes wide as she stared up at me, “Really?”
“Really,” I nodded.
“Can you teach me?” Buffy pressed, her earlier fear forgotten as her face lit up. “Please, please, please?”
“Shhh!” I whispered, looking over to Celia and making sure she still slept. After a moment of quiet, I sighed. “Why do you wanna' learn magic?”
“Superheroes do magic,” Buffy said plainly, as if everything in the wold made sense with this fact in mind. “And you can do magic, so you're a superhero...you saved Celia, right? I wanna' save people too!”
Oh, Buffy...oh God no, please...
Please, anything but that...
My eyes watered with unshed tears as I pressed back against the tide of emotion welling up from within me. It was the most perfect opening I could have ever asked for, and the most terrible thing my little sister could ever want; it was poisoned fruit that would taint her life forever...
...poison that would be served sooner or later, whether or not I gave it to her.
“Magic is really hard,” I choked out, my voice watery. “If you can't do your school work, you'll never be able to do magic.”
Buffy frowned as if she had bitten a lemon, but her resolve firmed. “I'll do well in school, even math! But you have to teach me magic, promise!”
The declaration hung in the air as I wavered.
“...and it has to be a secret. You can't tell anyone, not even mom or dad. If a grown up finds out, they'll get scared and get us in big trouble. You can't even tell our friends at school, not even Billy, cause they'll tell someone who'll tell an adult. So it has to be a complete secret, okay? Promise.”
Buffy's eyes glimmered with the tantalizing prospect of a secret. Like all children, my sister knew that a secretwas more precious than gold and far more enjoyable. It meant you were special, because you knew something no one else did and kids loved to be special...because they didn't know what it really meant...the pain and anguish of being set apart from the crowd, of being other.
God...forgive me, please...because I'll never forgive myself for this, as long as I live. I'm destroying her life six years early, promising something I have no idea how to even start, and...I'm going to turn her into a living weapon...someone that can make it through the next decade...hopefully.
“If you do well in school, I promise to teach you magic,” I swore quietly.
Her arms, wrapped around me tightly already, constricted like a vice, “Thankyou-thankyou-thankyou!”
Thank me now...curse me later.
I didn't sleep much that night, though it didn't come as a surprise. Between my own roiling thoughts and the limpet attached to my side, rest came in starts and stops. Before I closed my eyes for the last time that early morning, I remember seeing another set of eyes staring back at mine. Evidently Celia had been better at feigning sleep than I had thought possible for an eight-year-old...or her nightmares didn't allow her any sleep either.
“Magic?” Celia croaked quietly, her voice dry.
I closed my eyes tired, taking the time to hide the pained realization. Silently, I passed her the glass of water by her bedside and allowed her to sip slowly from the straw. As she did so, I contemplated what she might have heard...likely, the worst case scenario, was that she now knew enough to make my life difficult with my parents.
Even if mom and dad only yelled at me for scaring Buffy with talk about 'monsters under the bed,' it would alarm them enough that they'd be watching us closer, making sure we didn't try any weird 'magic tricks.'
“I won't tell,” Celia said quietly, as if reading my thoughts.
I opened my eyes, turning an odd glance her way, “You won't tell...about what?”
“The monster...the magic, you said it was a secret,” Celia whispered, shivering as tears slowly leaked out her eyes. “It was...it hurt so much, I was...so scared when it came in the door and-and-”
I reached my left arm as far around her as I could and she clung to the limb like a lifeline, nearly-silent sobs wracking her body and my heart twisted in pain. The lingering doubt of my...memories?visions?...whatever they were, it was becoming more and more readily apparent that it was very much real. There had been a monster, a demon, and it had attacked my cousin with the intent of drawing her life out through her head and eating it. I...had been fast, unhesitating and unthinking in my actions, moving to do what I knew needed to be done...
...and I had saved her life.
“I'm sorry,” I choked out. “Bad things shouldn't happen to nice little girls...I'm so sorry you were scared Celia.”
Celia mumbled something that I couldn't hear, apparently not even able to bring herself to meet my eyes. I pressed her to repeat it, then again as I finally understood her request. Closing my eyes in real emotional pain, I replied and leaned back in the cushioned chair, telling her to go to sleep as gently as possible.
As her breathing evened out, I could only hope either or both of them would forget...or not have the right attitude to follow through with my 'training.' I sighed, “God save me from children who want to be heroes.”
…
I dreamed.
Worlds blazed in my sleep, caught alight by the fires of Hell and smoking human corpses. Darkness froze the world a hundred times over, living nightmares rose up from The Pit itself, ravaging the daylight lands of man. I saw heroes fall, villains triumph, the light of hope extinguished like a flickering candle. A hundred, a thousand, a million visions of pain and torment visited upon those I knew, those I loved, and those I would come to call dear friends and family one day.
Madness prowled the corridors of my sleeping mind, it's sick delight finding host in the apparitions of dozens of people both familiar and strange. Civilizations rose and fell, tyrants and despots at their helms, fighting a war against oblivion, a war they could never win without the hearts they had torn from their own chests as their precious ones died around them.
I dreamed of world doomed to die...
...and I screamed.
…
“Gently now.”
His voice was calm, collected, and sane...forcing the same upon me as I dragged myself free of my nightmare-shackles. Weakly, I opened my eyes and beheld a young man...though older than myself, in his late teens or early twenties. I frowned, looking more closely at him, the way he stood, the look in his eyes...
“Okay, now breathe...it's hard coming out of something like that, I know.”
I took a stilted breath, though I couldn't feel the air pass through my mouth, couldn't feel my lungs inflate. I flexed my muscles, but the feeling was numb. As the nightmares receded, I focused more on the man standing in front of me and my surroundings.
The room I was in was luxurious, plush, and done up in deep rich colors. Bookcases covered the walls, stacked with aged and fading titles, complimenting the dark wood furniture and hardwood floors. It was so very different than the hospital room I'd fallen asleep in.
So...either I'd been kidnapped, or...
“It's a little pretentious, isn't it? Even for a dream?” I asked, looking him in the eyes, purposefully not thinking of the...dreams, nightmares, I had just left behind.
Blue eyes. Blonde hair. Oh boy...
“Chalk it up to the company I keep,” he said, a bit of a grin on his face. “Although, I do like to enjoy this type of thing...and you do too.”
“...and now I'm talking to myself in a dream. This is...just great. I'm Buffy Summers' twin brother, I just promised I'd teach two eight-year-old children magic I don't know, and I'm talking to myself...in a dream. This is comic book level shit, right here.” I stated, closing my eyes and throwing my head back.
“You don't know the half of it,” my older double stated seriously, moving to the desk and pulling out a glass flask. “Sorry, don't mind if I drink, do you?”
“I doubt it'll taste like anything, here,” I said, grimacing at my lack of feeling. Even sounds seemed a bit muted. I'd imagine anything I drank would be nearly as tasteless as water...if it would even be 'wet.'
He cut me a grin, holding up the bottle. “Actually, I can do sensations much better now. I just can't extend that to another person over a vision, so you'll be getting about as much feeling as a particularly lucid dream.”
I made a face, watching my older analogue drink some of the murky brown liquid. “Awesome. Is that scotch? We hate scotch.”
“It's an acquired taste. A friend of mine loves the stuff, pours me a glass every time I come over,” Older me waved off. “I think we're sufficiently off topic now, though. We've got stuff to talk about.” He took a seat behind the desk.
“Like how you prove you're really future me and not a hallucination, nightmare, or demon/angel/god trying to trick me into believing that you're me.” I interrupted, cutting him off. “A good place to start would be explaining how this is happening. I'm pretty sure nebulous precognitive visions aren't supposed to be interactive.”
Older me shook his head. “You know, if I really was a god or demon or something, I'm pretty sure being this flippant would piss me off.”
I scowled. “Yeah, but you'd also either be taking advantage of a reincarnate or purposefully reincarnated an individual for your own goals, either way means you need me for something. If you really are me, then we're both pretty ticked off when we get talked down to like this. Now, I'd really like you to level with me, please. What the fuck is going on?”
Older me grinned again. “Oh come now, I'm sure you're pretty close to getting it. Here's a hint: you might be seeing the future, but...”
I blinked.
I blinked again.
Then I swore, “Really?! We're really going there? That's a completely broken powerset! Who in their right mind would think this was a good idea?! Isn't there supposed to be some omnipotent God-figure in charge of my life, dedicated to making it difficult and traumatic instead of Easy Mode?”
Older me shrugged, taking another gulp of scotch. “Not that I've seen. Of course, between all the deities or god-like entities currently inhabiting this plane of existence...there's probably one or two sitting in a corner and giggling at us...me...I...we?”
Both of our eyes crossed as we encountered the common existential problem of all pseudo-time travelers.
The English language was not meant for this kind of situation.
I massaged my forehead, not that I could feel much of it, but the motion was comfortable and soothing to my psyche. “Anyway...now that you've given me a suitably clever and interesting explanation for how all this is happening, I'd like you to prove that you're me...if I am, in fact, you.”
He looked irritated now. “You know very well that's pretty much impossible. Even going on the assumption that I'm not you, if I'm actually a being with enough metaphysical power to insert myself into your dreams, I'm probably also able to read you mind. If I can read your mind, then there's functionally no password or recognition phrase that I could give you that couldn't be pulled from your...our mind. Even that phrase we created in our past life is still something in our memories, which can therefore be read. Your ball.”
I frowned.
All good points which made his identity completely unverifiable.
I sighed. “Then tell me something I can't know. Aren't you suppose to have already been through this? On my end, at least?”
He smiled, raising an eyebrow. “I should, shouldn't I? Then again, I might need to play along with the script, otherwise you'll never understand key concepts and hints about the future...”
I groaned. “No. No way. I promised I'd never do the 'wise old seer' routine and if you're me, you know how much it pisses me off. Pull the other leg.”
He laughed. “Sorry, sorry! I had to do it at least once. Besides, I've already given you enough to confirm my identity, if you think about it.”
I frowned and played back the conversation, the dull clink of ice cubes the only sound in the not-real room. I nodded after a moment. “Okay...I've already seen enough evidence that I might beprecognitive, I'll believe that. If you really are...me, then in order for you to be talking to me, you would have to be post-cognitive
As I watched a pair of six-year-old children play in the front yard, I wondered again what the hell I was doing. My uncle was watching the two kids like a hawk, his eyes intent as they rolled around on the soft grass, partaking in some odd game which only young children could ever truly understand. The importance of the rules was obvious, though, in that neither Dawn nor Clark initiated any physical contact with the other...for numerous reasons.
After it became apparent my youngest sister had inherited a modicum of my...gifts, she'd become wary of touching people, even mimicking my common habit of wearing gloves through uncomfortably warm weather. Dawn wasn't my daughter, no, but she was a genetic duplicate of Buffy and without the latent Potential abilities taking up metaphysical space...it seemed she was destined to follow in my footsteps instead.
It was yet another reason I wondered at my...
...destiny? Fate? I hated those words, but sometimes they seemed so apt.
As the minutes passed, I noticed Uncle Jonathan relaxing subtly, knowing that warnings to his son had taken proper root. Of course, I'd known the man's intent and fear the moment we'd shaken hands.
...alright, so I'd cheated a bit.
But really, what was a little psychometry between family?
I shook my head lightly, focusing once again on my cousin...Clack Kent.
Superman. My fucking cousin was Superman.
...what the hell was wrong with my life?
“So...Martha said you and Buffy are at the top of your class?” Jonathan Kent asked a bit awkwardly, obviously trying to start up a conversation, even as he didn't take his eyes off his adopted son.
I nodded, keeping my eyes on my...'adopted' sister.
“Celia too,” I said. “I tutor them.”
Jonathan made an appraising noise in the back of his throat. “Impressive for a boy your age. Still, book smarts aren't everything. Do you do much work with your hands?”
“Woodworking,” I replied, “mostly carving, but I also whittle and do a little carpentry. Mom doesn't like it much, she gets nervous with me around knives. She's teaching me, Buffy, and Celia to sew and knit so that the girls won't try it.”
Jonathan snorted, “I never had a sister, so I wouldn't know, but that sounds like something a mother would do. Just remember, she's only worried that you'll hurt yourself, so don't get too frustrated.”
I smiled, “I try not to...though mom's getting pretty frustrated herself. Buffy and Celia like doing a lot of the stuff I like doing...boy's stuff, mom says. When I bugged dad to sign me up for a self-defense class, they whined for two weeks until mom let them attend with me. Then...dad wanted to take me on a hunting trip...”
Jonathan grinned wider, even shooting me a sidelong glance. “Your mom really put her foot down, huh? I hope she at least let Buffy and Celia do something fun instead of keeping them at home.”
My lips twitched. “Actually, Buffy's a better shot than I am...and Celia really surprised our guide with how good she was at tracking.”
I knew Buffy's potential as a Slayer, though Celia's proclivity towards wilderness survival surprised me as much as it made me wonder...
The older man gave a deep chuckle and shook his head, though he turned to give the kitchen window a slightly wondering glance as he saw the girls helping Aunt Martha with the cooking.
“They both threw up when it was time to skin the deer, though,” I smirked, taking my victories where I could.
Jonathan nodded wisely, “Yeah, but don't get too used to it. Girls get really good at skinning stuff after a while.” There was a secretive smirk on his face.
I think I surprised him by laughing.
The conversation died off after that point, leaving us to sit in a much more comfortable silence. I sighed and prepared to break any measure of comfort my uncle possessed. I'd cheated a bit and decided on what was likely the best way to be gentle about things.
“Mom and dad...they're great, most of the time,” I smiled sadly. “But...there are things they don't really understand...don't really want to understand.”
“Maybe I can help then,” Jonathan smiled, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Your parents are good people, they raised you and your sisters after all, so I'll be around if you need a little advice while you're staying here, okay? You can come to me with anything.”
I sighed again and smiled back at my uncle.
“Thanks Uncle Jonathan, but...well, I don't think you can help with this. Mom and dad are great with the little things...like scraped knees and nightmares and...that sort of thing. They understand them, the little things, that is.”
Jonathan worked his jaw a bit, thinking on what to say. Finally, he spoke. “Then...I suppose they don't understand the 'big things,' then?”
I nodded.
There was a long silence.
“Listen, Jason, I know you don't think your parents will understand, but you should at least try. Whether it's drugs at school, or bullies, or...well, I think they'll probably understand and be able to help,” Jonathan stated firmly.
I paused, taking a deep breath, readying myself for the plunge.
After I said the next sentence, there wouldn't be any going back.
“I...tried; back when...a few years ago...I told about the space shuttle crashing,” I explained slowly, my heart in my chest. I could read the future all I wanted, but in my years experimenting, I'd learned that outcomes and destinies hinged on a dime. Subtle things...the way someone looked, held themselves, word choice...these things even my power couldn't predict accurately enough for me to manipulate. “...about a month before it happened.”
Jonathan blinked, the statement taking time to register even as his eyebrows slowly climbed towards his hairline.
“Jason...I'm not sure you know what-” Jonathan started and I interrupted.
“Mom and dad are good with little things,” I repeated. “Like making sure our clothes are clean when we go out to play and that we brush our teeth every night. They...don't understand big things, like...fate, or destiny...or seeing the future...or aliens. They certainly couldn't understand aliens.”
Jonathan lost a bit of color as I finished, his eyes growing wide even as his eyes flickered to Clark. There was a beat of silence as his mind undoubtedly raced to contain his son's...his family's greatest secret.
“...which is why I'm not going to tell them,” I continued. “If mom and dad can't get something like precognition or post-cognition, I don't think they'd take the revelation of extra-terrestrial life well.”
I noticed an ever-so-slight relaxation of stress in the older man's muscles as he finally rallied.
“...Jason, I'm not sure what you think you know, but aliens aren't real,” Jonathan said firmly, scowling as he lied through his teeth.
He was pretty good at it, I had to admit.
I shrugged, smiling as I thought up a new tactic to take. Jonathan wouldn't ever admit Clark's true origins unless confronted with a level of truth he couldn't just deny.
“I know,” I assured him, “but it'd be cool if they were real, right?” My question even contained a bit of childish whimsy. I was proud of it. “You know...if aliens were real...I'd bet they'd come from a planet named Krypton. That's a good name for a planet, don't you think, Uncle Jonathan?”
The older man shifted in his seat, his eyes piercing me with something between a glare and a stare.
“I suppose,” he granted. “As long as we're talking about fake aliens...like a television show, right?”
“Yep,” I grinned cheekily. “After all, it'd be pretty crazy for a baby alien to crash land in a ship in a cornfield in Kansas, you know. That'd be...weird.”
Jonathan swallowed, deeply, massaging his jaw as he nodded. “I guess it would be...though, that doesn't answer why someone would send a baby into outer space. That's definitely the weirdest thing about this whole story, I think. You wouldn't...happen to know why, would you? I think I missed that episode.”
I honestly tried to smile at the rather blatant addendum to his curiosity.
But I couldn't...not with what I was about to say. Thinking about Superman as a story was one thing...watching a six year old play in the grass before your eyes and understanding that he was one of the last living beings of his entire species...that was something else. I didn't envy my uncle trying to explain this when it came time.
“It'd have to be a good reason,” I said quietly, “for someone to do that to their son.”
Jonathan waited silently.
“Like...maybe if something bad was going to happen,” the words tumbled out. “Maybe...if their son was going to be all that was left of their world?” My throat suddenly constricted. “It would make sense, I guess, if the child arrived in a meteor shower...fragments of his world chasing after a tiny spaceship that barely escaped.”
It somehow felt wrong that the sun could shine on a day like this, when words like these had to be spoken.
“Oh,” Jonathan whispered, his eyes distant as he looked at his son.
Comments
godUsoland
Amazing! I'd love to see this continue
![七瀬由衣[ゆいぴー] from fantia](https://patrefans.com/kistorage/96657.jpg)
