The medical researcher accepted Jonathan's explanation about Clark's condition having been a misunderstanding easily enough, and that door was closed. Now they had to figure out how to raise an alien toddler with supernatural strength and, if not supernatural speed, at least a lot more speed than a toddler should have.
Most of the work still fell to Martha, for which Jonathan felt both thankful and guilty. During his first weeks in their home, Clark didn't have much of a rebellious streak—he was mischievous, but good-natured.
After a month, though, he started going through phases. Jonathan couldn't have said whether they were alien phases, or normal toddler phases. It didn't matter. He wouldn't have known how to deal with either.
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First was the nightmares.
A few months after the adoption, Clark started waking up around two or three in the morning every night, screaming like he was being murdered, face red and coated with tears. He couldn't describe what the dreams were about. He vaguely talked about loud noises, and darkness, and pain. Jonathan wondered if he was remembering his trip over in the spaceship. The space that had held him had been fairly small; he might have been jostled enough that it would hurt him.
It wasn't even just nightmares. Sometimes he'd start crying loudly in the middle of the night, and when Jonathan came to check on him and ask if he had had a nightmare, he would shake his head, tears and snot running all down his face, and just say, "I'm scared, Daddy." Jonathan would try to ask him what he was scared of, and he'd bury his little face in Jonathan's nightshirt, his whole body trembling, and refuse to answer.
Jonathan and Martha took turns looking after him. Jonathan learned to sleep just as soundly on the couch with the toddler in his arms as he had slept in his own bed. Sometimes he would see Martha asleep with him in a similar position, though Clark also seemed to sleep well on the couch beside her with his head on her lap.
But his fears carried forward into daytime as well. He was afraid of fire, heights, the dark, loud noises, tight spaces, farm machinery, and even some of the animals. It seemed ridiculous to Jonathan that a person who had the strength and resilience of ten grown men could be afraid of anything, but as Martha liked to point out, a toddler's fears weren't about logic.
They had to try to strike a balance between shielding him from the things he was afraid of, and helping him to face them. They bought him a nightlight for his room, but they didn't let him sleep with the lights on. They eased him closer to the animals, little by little, until he started to learn that he didn't need to fear them. They taught him to imitate and laugh at some of the loud noises the equipment made—a plan which, of course, backfired on them terribly.
Other than that, there was nothing they could do for him but wait until the fears settled. It was healthy for him to have some fears, since they would keep him from either getting hurt, or showing off to too many people that he couldn't be hurt.
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Though mischievous at times, Clark was sweet and compliant enough that they avoided the terrible two's and three's, for which Jonathan was incredibly thankful. With his abilities, there was simply no way to make the child listen if he didn't want to.
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And shortly after he turned four, he decided he didn't want to.
They couldn't carry or coax him to go anywhere he didn't want to go, couldn't convince him to do anything he didn't want to do. It was physically impossible. When he was defiant, they couldn't enforce a time-out or a restriction. They once buckled him into his car seat to get him to sit still, and he'd torn through the straps; another time, they locked him in his room just to make him stay, and he ripped off the doorknob. Positive reinforcement wasn't even an option: his strength and speed made him the perfect thief, and if they ever did manage to withhold anything from him, his tantrums rocked the house.
Martha was brought to tears of frustration on multiple occasions, and once or twice, that had an effect on Clark. Despite his recent determination to have his own way, he wasn't exactly a bad kid, and he clearly didn't want to cause his mother distress. But he was also a toddler, and she couldn't start crying every time she wanted him to do something. Even if it did work now, it wouldn't when he grew too angry with her.
A few times, when all else failed, Jonathan put an abrupt end to Clark's misbehavior by slapping his hand, or by threatening to do so. It only worked because deep down, Clark was still young enough to want to please. A sharp voice wasn't enough to make Jonathan's displeasure sink in, but a slap was, even though it didn't hurt—Clark broke down crying every time. Jonathan was careful about it, though, in part because there was a fine line between discipline and abuse even for a child who couldn't feel pain, and in part because the one time Martha saw him do it, she shed more tears than Clark did. As for Jonathan himself, he was pretty sure he'd never hated anything more than he hated making his son cry.
The more Clark matured, though, the more effective it became to simply come alongside him and talk to him about how to behave rather than try to coerce him. It began with the child showing empathy for the animals on the farm, and then he began to show more compassion toward his parents as well.
Even at that, it was a struggle all year. There were good days and bad days, good weeks and bad weeks. Ultimately, what saved them was connecting the dots between what made the good weeks good, and what made the bad weeks bad. When Jonathan let his work slip behind and spent time interacting with Clark, playing with him and reading to him and talking to him, Clark behaved. When Jonathan neglected Clark, he acted up, and Jonathan ended up having to take time away from work to discipline and scold him. Because of this, Jonathan ended up falling behind on chores the same amount each week, whether he did so intentionally or not.
So he taught Clark how to do some of the farm chores. With his powers, Clark could get them done in a tiny fraction of the time it would have taken Jonathan, and the time he saved, Jonathan spent with his family.
One saving grace throughout all of this was that their fears about Clark's tantrums being dangerous for them came to absolutely nothing. He punched walls from time to time, but he never hit people, and he was careful not to run into anyone when he used his speed. One evening, he accidentally slammed his hand against his mother's knee as he passed her—the pain in her eyes lasted only a moment, but Clark apologized and kissed the place where his hand had struck. He went back to playing, but came back to apologize again and gently pet her knee every thirty seconds. When this behavior went on for several minutes, Jonathan had to leave the room to keep himself from laughing aloud.
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Then Clark turned five, and entered into a phase that, Jonathan was convinced, could be his undoing.
He was starting to become aware of his powers, noticing he could do things that other people couldn't.
And he loved to put on a show.