Pairings: Clark Kent x reader | wc: 6k
Notes: IN COLLABORATION WITH @maikorian !! Please go check out her works, the amazing talented writer she is!! Check out my masterlist and @maikorian masterlist as well!
Summary: Inspired by Comic 870, Pa Kent dies from the evil mind of Braniac. The grief that hurts, the hollowness from Clark. You’re there to pick up the pieces for the both of you.
Warnings: Grief and loss of a parent, grieving process, death, funerals, Clark falls apart, heavy angst but happy ending
It was chaos from the very beginning up until the end. The battle within the Arctic fields took a lot out of Clark. Both mentally and physically. Having Kara’s help with Brainiac certainly helped lighten the load. Especially after finding out what Braniac's plan was. Braniacs planned to ‘preserve’ Earth at its current peak, trapping it in a glass bottle along with the many other planets he had taken throughout the universe.
Brainiac didn’t care about the damage he was doing. That he was taking so many innocent civilians into their own mini city in a bottle. He only wanted the knowledge that he could gain from them in his own sick and twisted ways. Clark wasn’t going to let that happen. Not on his watch. And he did it. He managed to complete the task of saving the innocent lives from earth and bring them back home to their own families, reuniting them all with their loved ones. Now, he can go home.
To his family. Where his loving parents were waiting, and most importantly, you. Clark couldn’t wait to see your smiling face once he stepped through the front door. You were probably with his parents right now. He could imagine your reaction the moment he steps through the door. You’d be pacing around the living room like you always do, his Ma and Pa trying to soothe your endless worries.
And as much as he wanted to fly straight towards the farm and fall into the warmth of his lover and his parents' arms, he couldn’t let them see him like this.
Ma would have a heart attack if she saw him. Walking with an obvious limp, bits and pieces of his iconic suit torn in certain areas, the bruises that marred his entire body. Yeah, he’d definitely had to delay his trip back until he’s finished getting himself cleaned up at the fortress. The only one to see him so wrecked would be Krypto – maybe Kara if she wasn’t drunk off her ass – and the Superman robots.
Clark tiredly made his way back to the Fortress of Solitude. He was in desperate need of help from the sun and the Superman robots. He wanted to go back home as soon as possible. Smallville. To get back to you in Smallville, to have you in his arms again. To remember the weight of your body in his arms and the smell of your sweet shampoo.
After a quick flight to the fortress, Clark trekked his way inside into the crystalline structure. His robots immediately activated the moment he set foot inside the fortress. They rushed to his side, a few robots moving to support his weight while Clark basically hobbled his way to the medical bed nearby. Once Clark was on it, there were a few of the robots holding him down while the others began operating the machine. It was painful for sure, but he was getting the sun he needed to heal completely. A good agonizing few minutes later, Clark was sitting up from the table, ready to go home.
First things first, check on everyone he knows and cares about. He zeroes in on the heartbeats from loved ones.
He had to make sure, just to check, that everyone was okay. That no one needs him for a while after the excruciating battle.
Lois, check. Jimmy, check. Everyone on his office floor, check.
Tuning in to you and his parents, even if he was about to head there, he also needed to make sure. It would clear his mind before he got back home. Though… something felt off. And not in the good kind of way. It was chaotic. Your heartbeat with Ma’s beating ever so erratically, then he hears both your cries. It’s a devastating and horrifying sound. The screams of his name pleading– No, begging for him to come home.
He zeroes in harder to find the familiar thump of Pa’s heartbeat, finding it quite difficult than usual, until he hears it. Faint. Subtle.
Clark's body moves before he even realizes it. Adrenaline rushing through his veins as he makes his way out of the fortress. The sound barrier rippled from underneath him, shooting upwards towards the blue sky, flying back as fast as he could, yet he feels like he’s barely getting there. Despite being able to go faster than the speed of light, it feels too late. No, he can’t think like that.
Before he even landed, Clark already knew it. He knew that something– someone was gone. Someone he cared and loved about wasn’t in this world anymore. He just didn’t want to believe it. His mind desperately trying to deny the undeniable bitter truth. Clark wouldn’t believe it until he saw it with his own two eyes.
From the crash landing where he came from, Clark never wanted to see the sight that was revealed right in front of him. The smell of ash, dirt, and the flames engulfing the farmhouse, mere inches from the house. The smoke filled his lungs but that’s not what made him feel like he couldn't breathe. No, it was the people who were sitting in front of his burning home.
The three most important people in his life, the two holding Pa Kent, who lay lifeless on the soft green grass.
He couldn't breathe, the air that was sucked out from his lungs from what was in front of him.
No-no, no. It can't be, it just can't.
Clark took an unsteady step forward. His vision growing blurry with the tears that welled up in his eyes. If you looked close enough, you’d see the utter devastation that reflected off of them. “No… no no no no no.” Clark spoke in a broken whisper, his legs carrying him forward to the small group of people before him.
“Pa!” he shouted, running towards where the three of you lie, dropping onto his knees with a loud thump to take in the damage that was already done. He was gone.
His fingers brushed along his father's face. Hovering over him with hesitation. Searching. Begging for any signs of life. He’d take anything. A breath, a twitch, a heartbeat. And despite all of his silent begging for the gods to spare his father's soul, the gods did not answer. Pa was gone. Forever. Taking Pa into his arms, Clark cradled him like Pa used to do to him when he was a kid, doing his best to mimic the actions.
A simple yet comforting action now turned into a sign of mourning. The man of tomorrow had lost someone he had promised to bring to that precious tomorrow.
Clark rocked back and forth to soothe his aching heart. His tears flowed freely down his face. The salty tears dripping down and falling onto Pa’s cold skin that was once warm like the sun. It was almost endless. “Please- Pa, you gotta come back. I- Please, please come back home. Don’t leave us. Don’t leave me.” Clark sobbed, burying his face in his dad’s chest. The sounds were guttural and heart-wrenching. His pain echoed out into the cold night air. His chest felt uneasy, the gasp of air as if this couldn't be real.
Speaking felt limited to you; the screams and fear from earlier ripped through you, leaving you shocked. Your mind was… frazzled to say the least. It all happened so fast. One moment you were talking with Pa through the window, and the next he’s gone. You shakily crawled behind Clark, wrapping your arms around his back, quietly ushering Ma to come as well, leaving quiet tears soaking his back, yet comforting each other in the worst.
The missile merely missed the home. Pa was out in the fields when the explosion hit. The blast took him off his feet in a strong gust, leaving him lifeless. It was too much for his old soul.
A week had passed, and it hadn't been any easier.
The silence was etched throughout the house and weighed like a thick blanket. If one listened hard enough, they’d hear the silent tears and on occasion, the muffled sobs that would come behind locked doors. It was either from you or Martha, sometimes both. With Clark? He was eerily quiet. Silence consumed him, but you know that he was suffering. You just knew.
You’d catch him staring blankly at Pa’s door. His gaze was empty and glassy with unshed tears in his eyes. Late at night, you’d find him sitting on the back of the truck, staring out into the stars silently. He doesn’t say a word when you call out his name. Nor does he speak when you sit next to him on the truck. Clarks’ body does the talking for him. His arm wraps around your body, taking the weight of your body against his.
The silence isn’t tense but comforting. That’s all you could offer for now. Your presence.
And then the day you all dreaded inched its claws closer to the Kent family. The funeral. In the early morning, you stood in Clark's childhood bedroom getting dressed. Clark was sitting on the edge of his bed while you fixed the faint wrinkles on your dress in front of the mirror. His back was turned to you, hunched as the glasses on his face slid down his nose.
Your gaze softened as you quietly sat down next to him. Clark had a framed picture of Pa in his hands. The picture was old, definitely taken when Clark was younger. It was both of them on the farm, standing behind the fully grown crops with Clark perched on Pa’s shoulder. Both of them shared a bright smile. A memory of the simpler times.
Clark was the first to break the quiet air. “This was my first time helping Pa out on the farm. He uh– let me sit with him on the tractor when we needed to harvest the wheat. Pa said that I was his lucky charm cause we got a good harvest.” A faint smile appeared on Clark’s face as he looked back on the heartwarming memory. It’s the first time you’ve seen him smile at all, ever since Pa died.
The smile slowly turned bitter. His hold on the picture frame grew tighter. The wooden frame creaked under his strength until you slowly covered his hand with yours. “We don’t have to do this today, Clark,” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you spoke. “People would understand–” Clark refused, shaking his head as he lifted his head to meet your gaze.
“No, no, we need to do this today. I- It’s what Pa would want.” Clark sniffled, swallowing down his pain the best he could as he wiped his tears. With a shaky breath, Clark stood up from the bed, leaving the picture on the mattress. He moved like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Before he could fully move away from you, your hand tugged him back by the sleeve of his shirt.
“Clark. Look at me.” You said in a firm tone. Clark didn’t fight back and followed your lead. His tall frame towering yours as he faced you. Your hand drifted towards his untied tie. The fabric is smooth beneath your fingertips. The black color matching the dark day. With practiced movements, you began helping him with his tie.
“I know things have been tough this past week.” That’s the best way you could even describe the misery everyone has been in. “Everything is changing and…” To be honest, you were at a loss for words. It was hard to put what you were thinking into words. “Just remember, you have me. You have Ma. We’re here for you. We all are.” Your hand cupped his cheek, Clark instinctively leaning into your warmth.
His lips brushed along the palm of your hand, holding your hand close as he possibly could. “I know… thank you.” Was all Clark could bring himself to say.
Pa was being laid to rest down the road from the Kent’s home, as requested by Pa himself. It was a dark and gloomy day. Fitting for the funeral of Jonathan Kent. The ceremony took place in a small field, with friends and family gathered to offer their support.
Ma did most of the talking. The guests whispering their condolences as they shuffled towards the grave so the ceremony could start. You knew that Clark could feel their piercing gazes filled with pity burning into his back. All you could do in that moment was squeeze his hand in reassurance. Reminding him that you were still here.
Clark, on the other hand? You also quietly showed your support on the sides with Martha, not wanting to hound him, giving the space he needed.
As it began, Clark took the lead to speak about him, Martha not being socially available in front of the crowd, which he understood. She was mentally exhausted from the recent events. The death of her loving husband was silently tearing her apart. Martha allowed herself a small gap of weakness, leaning into your embrace as the two of you stood to the side. A broken look was evident in your eyes as you stared at Clark standing at the podium. He gripped the podium hard, hard enough that it could have snapped under the pressure of his hands.
The grueling time of Clark's speech was a heartbreaking torment to your heart. You hated to see him like this, yet you gave your support during the normal nature of this grieving time. His eyes that washed over with tears that dared to spill, the wary in his voice, the stutters of his voice to keep going. It broke you to see your husband like this.
Time went by, longer than it should. Finally buried, finally laid to rest, the guest made their way over to you to chit chat with you and Martha, offering the two of you their paid respects.
You zoned out mid-conversation, realizing someone was missing since the speech. Clark. You scooped the field area, attempting to find your husband, but saw no sign of him. Where could he have gone? Was he okay? All worries rushed through your mind.
“Excuse me if that’s okay,” as you moved away from the conversation you had with a guest, bringing a hand up to Martha’s shoulder, letting you know you will be right back. And she knew, she knew you were looking for her son when she analyzed your worried expression, looking through the crowd for him. “I’ll take over with the guest sweetheart, just go,” as she handed you over a weak smile, letting you know it’s okay.
If he wasn't at the fields, he must have been at the barn that sat nearby. That was your first guess. He’s most likely nearby. You would’ve noticed if he flew away.
Making your way to the barn, you see the tiny opening in the door, indicating someone must have gone in. The wood creaks under your touch as you open the door wider. The sight before you has your steps stilling and heart shattering. Your husband, the usual calm and composed man, curled up on the dirty floor. His knees brought up to his chest, head in his hands filled with agony as his glasses laid long forgotten in front of him.
Every inch of him exuded anguish. It was written all over him. His sobs were stifled, trying to keep up the appearance that he could take it. That he could handle his father's death without breaking down in a million pieces. He kept lying to himself and eventually it was starting to catch up with him. The cold, hard, and bitter truth that no one could ever swallow easily.
Tears soaked the rough palms of his hand. The salty liquid dripping onto the dirt floor beneath him. You walked deeper into the barn. “Clark…” You croaked out, your hand brushing along his broad shoulders. The reaction is instant. He basically melts under your touch as you take your place next to him. “God– I don’t know what to do– I– What do I do now?”
Clark's aching sobs break down the thin wall of resistance you had built up for today. Your fingers grasp his dress shirt tightly, grounding him to you. “I don’t know, Clark. But we’ll figure it out. We can do it. We can.” You choke out as Clark breaks down. You don’t care that your clothes are getting soaked with his tears. Your main focus as of now was to be Clark's support pillar even if you’re trying to find one yourself.
Leaving Smallville after the funeral felt like tearing off a limb.
You and Clark wouldn’t have minded staying another a day or two, hell even a week would’ve been fine. Neither of you wanted to leave Martha alone on the Kent farm. But Martha being Martha shooed you two off. You two had jobs, responsibilities to attend to, and she knew that. You couldn’t stay on that farm forever grieving.
And just like the rest of the world, you had to move on. However, that's easier said than done. It didn’t take much to notice how distant Clark had gotten.
The usual joy and laughter in the morning before work were nowhere to be seen. Half of the time you didn’t even get to wake up with him like you usually do. You try not to feel discouraged when it happens. Grief isn’t an easy thing after all. Clark was taking it hard. His focus and control over work were starting to slip.
Perry and the others were understanding, but deadlines are still deadlines. The world never stops to mourn for one dead man.
And when he’s back at home in the evening, the only thing you’re met with is the occasional ‘hmm’ or some incoherent mumbling. You’re patient. You take things slow when it comes to him. Doing your best to support him with everything that’s going on. Juggling his normal life and Superman isn’t that easy for him right now.
Clark still shows you affection. At night when the two of you are curled up in bed, his arm wraps itself around your body and pulls you closer. His hand wraps around your wrist, thumb brushing along your pulse. It’s like he’s scared that you might end up disappearing. He doesn’t fall asleep until you do. Even then it takes a few hours for him to actually settle down, by then the sun is already starting to rise.
And the worst part is the arguments.
Clark never had an ounce in his bones to speak to you in such a way, never wanting to direct his frustrations towards you in any way possible, but with this heavy guilt, it all flooded onto you until now.
It’s not those over-dramatic shouts like in the soap operas. It’s a calm sort of fight that slowly builds into a burning fury. It slowly builds up over time. The anger, the bitterness. Neither of you speaks about it until it eventually blows up in your face. Most of the time it leaves one of you or both of you a crying mess. And tonight was unfortunately one of these nights.
“I just want you to talk to me, Clark! Is that so much to ask from you?” You’re both standing in the middle of the kitchen. The takeout you had bought earlier is now sitting cold on the table. Uneaten and still in its packaging. “Well what do you want to talk about? Aren’t we talking right now?” Clark shoots back, standing his ground. He knows that he’s not in the best mood right now. He’s tired, a little frustrated, and upset because of work, all while he was still grieving. It’s a recipe for disaster at this point.
“We are now but definitely not before! You’ve barely said twenty words to me this entire week.” The frustration is clear in your tone. Your shoulders are tense as you lean on the countertop. “Let me be there for you, Clark. Don’t– Please, don’t shut me out. Not when I’m right here in front of you.” You sigh, almost pleading for some sort of actual communication that isn’t half assed.
Clark runs his fingers through his messy thick locks. “I’m not shutting you out! –”
“Yes you are!” You argue. “You’re shutting everyone out. You’re shutting me out. You’re shutting yourself out! Can’t you see it?”
Clark instantly scoffs at your words. A small part of him knows that you’re right but there’s this stubbornness in him that takes over and ignores that fact. “I’m fine! I’m not doing anything that you’re talking about, Y/N. You’re just imagining things.” Clark huffs out, blatantly ignoring the signs being presented to him. He rests his hands on his hips, pinching the bridge of his nose to ease the throbbing in his head.
It takes everything in you not to storm over and try to shake some sense into the man that he clearly doesn’t have right now. Especially when it’s right in front of him. Your nails dig into the palms of your hand as you try to clear your head. “Look, I know things haven’t been easy since Pa died–” You tried to speak up only to be cut off by him.
“Don’t. Don’t you dare bring him up.” And that’s the sore spot of this argument. Jonathan Kent.
“Why not? We can’t just ignore it forever, Clark.” Clark clenches his jaw at your truthful words, shaking his head as he avoids your gaze. “He’s gone. Pa is gone and we need to accept that and–”
“And what? Move on like it was nothing?” There's this hint of venom behind Clark's words. You don’t say anything about it, but you recognize it.
“No– Yes– We need to move on but not– not like that. His death wasn’t nothing.” You whispered, your voice starting to tremble as you spoke. It hurts you deeply like a knife stabbed into you, seeing him unravel before your eyes. The hurt was heavy on you too, but you pushed it all to the side for the last 2 weeks just for him.
You were there the entire time for Clark. Doing your best to support him through the grief and agony he’s been facing for the past fortnight but it’s almost impossible. Grief is no easy thing to accept and let go. It’s like an ache that clings at one’s soul and slowly brings them apart or together. Blinded by this, Clark can’t control the words that slip from his lips.
“You don’t get to speak about him y/n—you don’t know how it feels, it’s not like you're the one who lost the parent. He was my dad. Not yours.” he snarled, picking up his jacket and keys, making his way towards the door.
Well ouch. Words that clawed you like a dagger. You could feel the hurt scratching at your throat as you desperately tried to hold back your own tears. Pa was like your own father, someone who took you under his wing. And in turn, Pa treated you like the daughter he never had. He gave you that familial bond you’ve yearned for so long. And then you lost him as well.
Even though you weren’t done with the conversation, it’s clear that Clark is. And every step he takes leaves this aching hole in your heart. It took you everything in that moment to not scream at him right then and there. You let out a shaky breath as you barely lift your head to meet his gaze. “Don’t you dare walk out that door Clark.” There was no anger behind your tone. It was mostly a mix of pleading and hurt. Hurt that he’d say such things to you and leave like it was nothing.
Clark pauses for just one second at the door. The hesitation clear behind his body language. His hand is frozen as he holds onto the doorknob. There’s this voice in his head that’s telling him to stay. To actually be a decent partner and not leave in the middle of a fight. His actions give you this slightest bit of hope. It gives you a chance to think that he’d stay with you.
But Clark doesn't listen. He repeats the same actions he’s repeated for the past two weeks. Ignore and leave. That hope of yours shatters when you hear the doorknob turn before the door clicks shut behind him. Just like that he’s gone. And now the apartment feels so much more empty and colder with him gone. You weren’t even sure if he’d come back.
You guessed that you and Clark were done forever by then.
Clark wasn't sure where he was headed, but he knew he had to just to blow some steam off at the place where he first started, the place that raised him.
Changing into his suit in the alley, he blasted upwards into the cloudy skies, letting the wind cool the tears that managed to escape. The grey skies didn’t help the situation, especially how he talked back to you. In fact, it matched the inner turmoil clouding his heart. He needed to make a quick stop before seeing ma; he needed to see someone before he fell in too deep where he couldn't get out.
His boots land in the grassy wet field with a loud thump, the mud dirtying his pristine red boots. One hand clutching a small bouquet he got on his way, he gazes over to the built tombstone ahead of him. “Hey Pa.” as his voice cracks, trembling, walking over and falling onto his knees from the tomb that lies in front of him. “I um—I miss you so much.”
“I wish you were here, Pa. You always showed me to be the man I should be—how my choices and actions show who I am. And I haven’t been feeling great about it—” as he breathes in to contain himself, wiping the tears that trickled slowly down his cheeks.
“But your choices and actions mean a lot to us, Clark.”
Clark whips his head around, nearly breaking because of how unaware he was of anyone's presence from all the distress he was feeling in the moment, but he wouldn't care so much anyway if someone caught him in his suit or not. But the sight of Ma behind him eased his shoulders a bit, melting away the weight that was left on his shoulders.
“Not to y/n, ma.” he sniffled, wiping the tears when it became too unbearable.
“She loves you Clark. Cmon, let's talk about this in the house, we don’t want anyone catching you like this, don’t we know?” Crouching down to his level, kissing the crown of his head to usher him away before the public spots Superman at a random tomb. Clark makes his final goodbyes with Ma at her side and makes his way into their home, where it desperately eased him in the moment of despair.
Settled on the kitchen table, Ma makes her way over, hot chocolate in hand. “Hot cocoa?”
She knew it was a favorite of his since he was small, a sweet treat that was always shared every week, something to help him ease, to enjoy something warm when things went south.
“Thanks Ma.” taking the cup out of her hands, sipping the chocolatey goodness out of the cup.
“What’s going on—not to y/n how come?” as she sat down at the table with him, worried shown on her features, sensing something was going on between his son and you.
“I haven’t been treating her right, ma. My choices aren’t what I promised her—” his voice laced with hurt, exhaustion that was catching up to him like bricks. “I put my frustration on her. I put the hurt, the pain, I just don’t know what to do Ma.” he says with tears welling up in his eyes, a boy who just felt broken, feeling small in front of his mother.
“Oh, Clark and that’s okay you are grieving my sweet boy. There's no wrong in that at all,” as she caressed his shoulder gently. “You're allowed to grieve, but you have to remember y/n is grieving as well. That she lost someone special to her, too. We weren’t the only ones who loved Pa.”
The realization hits him at once, the guilt that was chipping away at him slowly. He knew Ma was speaking the truth, but his stubborn self ruined it for you, and he doesn't know if it’s too late. His own grief took over him; the blindness of disregarding how you felt when all you did was care, you were worried sick for him… None of this was like him. You were grieving too. You were alone; he left you alone.
The heavy sigh took over him, his shoulders slumped heavily, “I—I messed up Ma. I think it's too late, I-”
“It’s not too late, Clark. You can still be there for her, I promise you that. Just go my son, she probably might need you right now.”
“Are you sure Ma? I—I don’t want to leave you alone so suddenly, I don’t think y/n wants to see me right now.” he hesitates, fumbling with his choices of leaving his ma or going to you.
“I’ll be okay Clark. Go to her; she needs you. You're both grieving, you guys need each other. The only way you guys can properly heal is to talk it out. Now go,” she ushers him up his chair, shooing him away towards the door.
He turns around before heading out the door, “I’ll be back Ma. Thank you,” he says, reaching down to hug her before he heads out.
“No worries Clark, I’ll see you soon.”
Clark didn't expect to be out longer than he thought, considering how it was almost midnight and you must have been worried sick. Gosh, this was his fault he thought. He’ll make it up to you anyway he can if he has to. But stepping into the balcony of your shared apartment, the soft thud of his boots, he takes in your sight of you on the couch.
And it breaks him. Your uncomfortable position of you on the couch, the crooked position of your neck, the tears that dried up on your cheeks, leaving a mark, a reminder of how badly he messed up.
He slides the balcony door slowly, noticing the door was unlocked, and the feeling of you leaving the door unlocked just in case he came back made his heart drop even more, knowing you always left the door locked cause of the constant warnings he would always give you.
Trodding quietly towards you, he drops to his knees softly where you lie, brushing the strand of hair that covered your face. You stirred slightly, feeling the presence of Clark by you, your eyes fluttering open slightly, fighting off the exhaustion that was on you. “Cl—Clark you're here,” you murmured brokenly, lolling your head to the side, as you try to shake off the sleepiness that you had, wanting to take in the moment that your Clark was here.
“Shhh sweetheart it’s okay I’m here, I’m here. Let’s get you to bed hmm?” leaning down to your temple to press a soft kiss, scoping you into his arms, carefully carrying you to the bedroom without startling you.
And you didn’t want to go to sleep without talking to him first. Not wanting to fall asleep heartbroken, in a hurtful anguish that you were already in. “Clark no—I want to talk.” As you wriggle out of his embrace when he was setting you down in the bed gently.
Both of you sat down on the bed together, facing each other, where the silence spoke so much. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry about today—I’m so sorry,” he broke first, his features twisted in heavy guilt, the guilt of speaking to you in such a way, the guilt of speaking to you aggressively, something he was never raised on ever, even as a child. Ma and Pa never raised him to ever speak to a woman like that. Not how he spoke to you.
“I thought you left for good.” As your voice broke, the hurt and sadness that laced through your words, as you thought Clark never wanted to see you again. That you felt like you just made everything worse when you didn't want it to be.
The thought of you thinking that he left you hit him more than he in every way possible, hurting him more than kryptonite would ever do. Leaving you? Never in a million years, never ever. All you did was care deeply for others, leaving your own pain to the side just so others can be okay, just to make sure he was okay, and the guilt was gnawing him to the bone.
Tears rushed in both of your eyes, the silent night crawling towards both of you, until Clark spoke. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry I raised my voice at you, it was never like me—all you did was continue to care for me and I pushed you to the side, I ignored you, and it’s my fault,” he faltered, taking his calloused hands in yours, letting his tears silently fall into them.
“Clark it’s okay—you're grieving. It’s my fault for trying to push you over, I should've left you alone and—“
And he wouldn't even let you finish, not wanting you to think this was your fault, as he felt sick to his stomach that you thought that. “Sweetheart—no, never. You continued to show support for me, and I acted like a complete idiot. You're grieving too, and it hurts me that I acted like that towards you. You deserve support too, and I promise to show it to you, to never leave you alone, to ever ignore you, even if I’m hurting.”
Tears were running down both yours and Clark's face by now, taking in the grieving moment that was slowly mending with this conversation, a start, to say the least. A start to a healing journey together.
“I just hate to see you hurting Clark.” you hiccuped through your tears, the exhaustion catching up to you when you saw how much he was unraveling before your eyes, the grief that blinded him, where you felt hopeless to save your husband. “I just want you to be okay.” as you melted into his arms, letting his presence ground you from your erratic breaths.
“I will be okay when I’m with you, sweetheart,” he whispers, caressing your back slowly in soothing motions. “As much as I'm hurting, you're my home. You ease everything, you give me hope in the darkness, you make me who I am, and I want to be the same for you, forever and always.” sniffling, easing himself into the bed, as you lie on his chest, holding on to him so he doesn't disappear.
Through both your tears, you hold on to each other, finding that hope and comfort in the night, letting the night take you both into a slumber, a start somewhere into healing.
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