restitution

New work gloves. Ones with reinforced thumbs.

That’s all Jonathan Kent was after. While working on putting up a new fencepost, he’d ripped his well-worn pair and cursed aloud. Well, Martha needed some things anyway, so he decided to pop into town.

He stopped at Fordman’s, because Fordman’s carried practically everything, and was busily testing out some gloves when he heard familiar voices coming from the next aisle. He recognized them as Jack Fordman, Bob Gronberg, and Harold Marker, all former Smallville High football players with sons currently on the team.

They were talking about last week’s Homecoming game, which Smallville had won of course. The men were boasting about whose son played better, and Jonathan felt a twinge of envy that he couldn’t join in. Clark could pounce any of those boys, Jonathan knew this, but the risks of him playing were just too high.

Just as Jonathan turned to walk away, new gloves in hand, Jack mentioned the traditional “scarecrow” stunt that was pulled every year. Jonathan himself had participated when he was in school, but he didn’t like to think about it. It was a cruel joke, and he ignored the gossip, not wanting to know who was the unlucky student chosen to hang in the field for a night.

“Jimmy was in on this time,” Bob Gronberg said proudly. “Said it was no sweat taking that Kent kid to the field. Guess he cried like a baby.”

Jack Fordman chuckled. “Whitney chose him, thought Kent deserved it for always mooning after Lana.”

Jonathan had his jaw clenched so hard his teeth began to ache.

Clark? Clark had been this year’s scarecrow? How? It wasn’t possible.

Dropping the gloves on the floor, Jonathan stormed out of the store, got into his truck and roared home. Martha had left him a note informing him she’d gone over to a neighbor’s house but would be back soon.

Jonathan fumed silently as he paced around the kitchen. Clark hadn’t said a word. What sickened Jonathan most was that the very next day, he’d complimented Whitney on a great play, right in front of Clark.

His mind was racing a million miles a minute, trying to understand what could make Clark weak enough that he wouldn’t fight back. And how had Whitney found it?

Whitney.

Jonathan pounded the countertop with his fists. That jealous twit. Clark had never made a move on Lana. He respected her too much, and he knew she was Whitney’s girlfriend.

A burst of cool air, the rattle of the screen door, and suddenly Clark was peering into the fridge, searching for a snack.

“What’s up, Dad?”

Jonathan could only stare at his son.

“I’m going out for awhile,” he finally said. “I’ll be back by dinner.”

Clark paused in his search for food and looked up curiously. “Something wrong?”

Jonathan forced a smile and patted Clark’s shoulder.

“No, nothing’s wrong. Just something I need to do.”

~*~*~

Football practice was over, and Jonathan watched from his truck as the players left the locker room and headed for their vehicles. Whitney was the last one out, taking his time. Jonathan went to meet him.

Whitney tossed his stuff into the bed of his truck, jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around and laughed nervously.

“Mr. Kent, what are you doing here?” he asked, before he was shoved against the door.

“Why Clark?” Jonathan hissed, his grip hard and unforgiving on Whitney’s arms.

“Wh-what? What about Clark?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. You may be a jock, but I know you’re not dumb. Why did you choose Clark for the scarecrow?”

Whitney’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened in surprise. He’d never seen the older man this mad, and it scared him. He glanced around the empty parking lot. If Jonathan Kent wanted to kick the shit out of him, there was no one around to stop it.

Whitney swallowed and tried to speak without letting his voice crack.

“It was just a joke, sir. A prank. We were gonna go back after the game and let him go-”

“You and I both know that’s not how it works. It was freezing that night. He could have died.”

“I went back the next morning. He got loose on his own, he’s okay!”

“But I’m not.”

Whitney almost panicked, thinking he was about to be hit by a guy who’d done serious farm work all his life. But Jonathan released him and stepped back.

“Clark never said a word about it,” he said, staring Whitney down. “I heard your dad talking about it today. Bragging.”

Whitney winced. “Mr. Kent, I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to Clark. I did once, but I can do it again.”

“You still haven’t answered my question. Why did you pick him?”

Whitney gulped and heat rushed to his face.

“I was jealous. I saw Lana with him, and I got jealous.”

Jonathan nodded. “And how did you manage to get him into the field?”

“What?”

“He’s bigger and stronger than he looks,” Jonathan said.

“Well, there were four of us. We, um, kind of. . .” Whitney trailed off and averted his gaze.

“Kind of what?” Jonathan prompted, his anger rising.

“Roughed him up a little,” Whitney said.

“And he didn’t fight back at all?”

Whitney’s face was crimson, and beads of sweat gathered at his brow. Jonathan was confused, as well as mad.

“Did you drug him?”

Whitney shook his head. “No, no, never. All I did was put Lana’s necklace on him, then he seemed to get kind of sick. But we thought he was faking so he could get away. We tied him up before we got to the field and hit him a few times.” Whitney closed his mouth with an audible click as his teeth connected.

“Lana’s necklace? What is it?”

“It’s, um, a piece of the meteor rock that hit her parent’s car. Nell gave it to her.”

Jonathan frowned. Meteor rock?

“M-mister Kent?” Whitney asked, his tone light.

Jonathan’s attention snapped back to him. He narrowed his eyes at the quarterback and growled, “You will do two things to make this right.”

Whitney’s head bobbed up and down.

“One, you will make this the last year the scarecrow stunt is pulled. Never again, do you understand?”

“But how-”

“People listen to you, Whitney,” Jonathan said with a shrug. “Just say the right things. And two.” He leaned a bit closer. “You will make it up to my son.”

“Sir?”

“I don’t care how you do it, but you will.”

“Yeah, sure, okay. I’ll think of something,” Whitney said.

Jonathan nodded, satisfied. “Have a good night.”

Whitney felt all the energy drain from his body as Jonathan Kent drove away.

~*~*~

Later that evening, Jonathan headed out to the barn to have a talk with Clark. He was a little surprised to see Whitney’s truck parked behind it. If he was there to apologize, Jonathan wanted to hear it.

He stepped inside the barn, expecting to hear them talking, but there was nothing. Not even the radio, and Clark always had music playing while he studied.

As Jonathan crept up the wooden stairs, he saw sneakers, socks, jeans, T-shirts and underwear, all lying in a heap on the floor.

Two sets.

Clark and Whitney were curled up on the couch together, covered by a blanket and both were sound asleep. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out they were naked under the blanket.

Jonathan just stood there. So this was Whitney’s way of “making it up to Clark.”

Jonathan sighed heavily and left the barn. When it came to making demands of others, he was going to have learn to be more specific.

~end